


The Nuptial Necessity

by blueboxesandtrafficcones



Series: The Nuptial Necessity [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol, Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Human, Amy pond - Freeform, Arranged Marriage, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cameos, Children, Clara/12 Father Daughter Relationship, Cute Kids, Developing Relationship, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Honeymoon, Inheritance, Jamie McCrimmon - Freeform, Kids, May/December Relationship, Mentions of Mickey Smith, Mutual Pining, Sarah Jane Smith - Freeform, Scotland, distillery tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 70,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboxesandtrafficcones/pseuds/blueboxesandtrafficcones
Summary: Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: The Nuptial Necessity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697938
Comments: 295
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome. This is a new multi-chapter human!12xRose AU that I suspect will end up being quite long.

Strictly speaking, shouting- even of a profane nature- coming from her boss’s office was not particularly unusual or noteworthy. Malcolm Tucker was a passionate individual, who had no issue with speaking his mind and a talent for doing so _creatively_.

She was long since immune to his acid tongue, never blinking no matter the volume or count of profanity – it helped that he was wise enough to never turn on _her_ , the woman who ruled his life and calendar. She’d come a long way since she first started fresh out of uni, an absolutely terrified twenty-two-year-old who had been talked into accepting a temporary job as her best friend’s father’s assistant until she figured out what she wanted.

That had been eight years ago.

“Rose!”

Sighing, she slipped her feet back into her pumps and stood, smoothing her dress before grabbing her tablet and stylus. Rapping perfunctorily on his office door before pushing it open, she entered to find him standing at the window with his hands on his hips, staring out at the London skyline. Taking a moment to appreciate the spectacular view herself, she drew closer.

When he didn’t move, seemingly paralyzed, she coughed discreetly, finally sparking him back to life.

Shoulders slumping Malcolm turned to her, a familiar expression of frustration that eased slightly at the sight of her, tired eyes brightening. “Yes?”

Rose raised an eyebrow, curious now at what had him so rattled he’d forgotten he’d called for her in the time it took her to enter. “You shouted?”

“Right.” He ran fingers through his hair, and she idly noted that he’d need a haircut soon. The salt and pepper curls were growing wild and fearsome, much as the rest of him, and while the look personally suited him, it did not befit the Executive Director of a non-profit. “Sorry. Erm- can you get my attorney on the phone?”

“Dave or Alex?” She blinked innocently at him, his answer telling about whatever the problem was, praying it would be Dave. The recent level of profanity suggested it would not be, though, his answer confirming her fear.

“Alex.”

 _Shit. What now?_ Alexander McHenry specialized in family law, and had been Malcolm’s lawyer since his divorce from Clara’s mum more than twenty-five years earlier. Missy, the once _Mrs. Tucker_ , showed up often enough to cause trouble that after all this time, the lawyer was still on speed dial. “Two minutes.”

“Thanks.” He moved towards his desk chair as Rose headed for the door, stopping her just before she exited. “Hang on- tell him it’s not about Missy. This is an inheritance matter. Me inheriting, I mean, not Clara’s trust or anything.”

“Okay.” She waited a beat, before offering, “If you want to give me more detail-”

Malcolm’s lips twitched into what, for him, was a smile. “No, I don’t think so. Not yet. I need to talk to him first.”

With a sharp nod she left, pulling the door mostly shut behind her before sinking into her desk chair, taking a moment to stare at a framed picture sat next to her desk phone. It was from a few Christmases before, and showed her, Clara, and Malcolm smiling and laughing in front of the office holiday tree during the annual holiday party. It was her favorite non-family picture, due in part to the genuine happiness radiating off of her in it.

Dialing the number from memory, she waited for Alex’s assistant to answer the phone. “Lisa? Rose. Yeah, does he have a few minutes? Malcolm has an inheritance question- no, nothing with her this time, thankfully, at least at the moment. Yeah, I’ll hold.”

* * *

_ Eight years earlier _

_“So, what are you going to do now?” Clara asked, passing the champagne bottle over. Now officially graduated, it would be their last time lying on the roof of their rented flat and watching the world pass._

_“Fuck if I know.” Rose took a generous swig, staring up at the dark sky. Small lights twinkled overhead, a few airplanes mixing with the multitude of stars, and she tried to lose herself in the peaceful, black abyss as she had so many times before. “My dad said I can come work for him, if I don’t find anything better.”_

_Clara hummed, taking back the bottle and sipping at it. “I’m going to travel until classes for my masters start up. You could come with me?”_

_Rose made a face only the night sky could see. “Thanks, but no. I need some time without you.” She nudged her friend, turning her head to wink, and they both burst into giggles. “I just can’t believe it’s over. Uni is supposed to be 'the best years of our lives’. I don’t really_ feel _that way though; do you?”_

_“Nope.” The raven-haired girl shrugged, sighing. “We had fun though, didn’t we?”_

_“Absolutely.”_

_They sat in silence, passing the bottle back and forth, Clara draining the last drops before venturing, “You know, my Dad’s assistant Jo is retiring – he needs someone to take over. What about you?”_

_“I don’t know if my future lies in being a PA though; no offense, but that’s not what I went to Cambridge for.”_

_“No, you went for French and Art History. Have you changed your mind about that job at the Louvre?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then what good is it doing you? Working for my dad’s gotta be at least a_ little _less embarrassing than working for your own. C’mon, it’ll be a temp thing, just until you find something better. Give it a try? For me?”_

_Rose groaned, easing herself upright, careful of both the alcohol in her system and the sloped roof they lay on. “Fine.”_

_“Yay!” Clara bolted upright, and they watched with wide eyes as the empty champagne bottle rolled right off the roof onto the pavement below, the shattering loud in the otherwise silent night. “Oops. Brilliant, so, first thing Monday, like eight- I know, I know, you and mornings- you’ll be great.”_

_It took Rose’s soused brain a few seconds longer than usual to understand her friend’s meaning. “Hang on, did you already agree to this for me?”_

_“Yep! Don’t worry, it’ll be fun! And it’s only temporary, you’ll see.”_

* * *

“Rose?”

She yelped, startled out of the memory, and looked up to find Malcolm standing beside her desk, watching her with a concerned expression. “Hi!”

“All right?”

Rose nodded, tucking hair behind her ears and giving him a bright smile. “Just thinking. What’s up?” Biting her lip, she glanced him over and saw his backpack, a sure sign he was leaving for the day. “Heading out?”

“Can’t get anything by you,” he joked, winking. “I’m going to Alex’s office to go over a few things, then dinner with Clara tonight. Do I have the restaurant address?”

“Graham does,” she said, referencing his personal driver, “and I’ll text you half an hour before just to be safe.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Malcolm offered, just as he had every day since the dinner had been arranged a week earlier. “Come hear about her travels. She wants you to come too, you know.” His open expression made it clear both Tuckers would welcome her presence, not that she doubted his sincerity. In fact, his eyes bordered on pleading, which only served to amuse her.

Rose smiled, shaking her head fondly. “Thanks, but no. I’m seeing her Saturday for a girl’s night, I’ll hear all about it then. Tonight, I am going home, ordering takeaway, and vegging. It’s been such a week with the upcoming gala, I need a break.” All of which was technically true, but not the real reason; Missy had a tendency to crash these types of dinners, and Rose went out of her way to avoid the woman whenever possible. She’d heard enough stories from Malcolm and Clara over the years to give a clear picture of the woman behind the sweet and charming mask Rose saw. Never mind she’d always had a gut instinct about her. _Sparring with Missy tonight? No thank you._

Her boss narrowed his eyes, but accepted that. “Fine, suit yourself. The samples should arrive this afternoon, right? Bring them by on your way home. Or stop by later tonight for ice cream sundaes; I bought all the favorites.”

Rose laughed. “You mean _I_ ordered all the ‘favorites’. You didn’t do _shit_.”

“The fuck I didn’t!” he protested. “I gave you a list! _And_ my credit card.”

“You’re going to be late. Get lost,” she ordered, pointing towards the lift. “I have a lot of work to do, and can’t until you’re gone. Now shoo.”

“Yes ma’am,” Malcolm mocked, saluting as he backed away. “As you wish. Have a good night.”

Shaking her head, Rose watched him go until he turned the corner and vanished out of sight, his whistling echoing back to her from the lift bank.

“Blimey, these Tuckers tucker me out!”

And, chortling to herself at the lame pun, she picked up the phone to order her lunch, kicking off her heels in favor of flats.

_When the boss is away, the mice will play._

* * *

Malcolm paced Alex’s office, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he tried to think. _Why would he do this? What was the point?_ “Is this even legal?”

“I’m afraid so,” his old friend said sympathetically, calm and unruffled behind his own desk. His view out the window wasn’t quite as nice as Malcolm’s, but decent nonetheless, Hyde Park in the distance. “If you don’t meet the requirements within thirty days of today, then you forfeit the estate and it goes to the Government. Those are the terms of the will.”

“It’s _ludicrous_ ,” he argued, settling his hands on his hips and glaring at the lawyer. “That money should go directly to the foundation! I don’t even _want_ it!”

It hadn’t been a secret that his uncle was dying; eighty-five and riddled with cancer, it had only been a matter of time. Malcolm and Clara visited him when they could; even Rose had, on occasion, once they’d been forced to move him to a home, a live-in nurse no longer sufficient. _Apparently, she made quite the impression._ As his only heir, and the administrator of the charity Wallace had set up fifty years earlier, _The Thistle Foundation_ , Malcolm had reasonably expected to be the beneficiary of the estate. What he _hadn’t_ expected were the strings. _What’re you trying to pull, old man?_

“What do I do?”

“Talk to her?” Alex suggested unhelpfully. “What could it hurt?”

Malcolm threw him a nasty look, before resuming his pacing. “I can’t do that. Could I- No. _Shit_.” For a moment, just a moment, he tried to picture that conversation. Every scenario ended with her either laughing, quitting, or slapping him and _then_ quitting. “Rose- I can’t lose her,” he confessed, a bit more honestly than he intended. “I mean- she’s a brilliant assistant. I don’t have the time or patience to train a new one.”

“All your funding comes from the estate, doesn’t it?” Alex asked quietly, and the horrifying implications of that were enough to make Malcolm sink into a chair.

“Yeah.” _If the estate goes to the government, so does all the money. The Foundation would dry up in six months, maybe less. Only thirty percent of our funding comes from outside sources, and Vitex and the Tylers are half of that alone._ “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice,” the other man shrugged, “but practically speaking, no, you don’t. Not if you don’t want to have to go job hunting, or worse, woo new investors.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“What’s the timing on this?”

“You have thirty days from today to sign on the dotted line, and need to give notice two weeks before _that_. So you need to decide if you’re going to… _meet the terms_ , then you have to do that no later than then days from tomorrow, just to be safe.”

Malcolm hung his head in his hands, wondering if he dared broach the subject with Clara first. _Maybe she can tell Rose?_ “And how long-”

“Five years.”

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Alex!”

His friend snorted, coming around the desk to pat his shoulder comfortably. “I didn’t write the will, you know. Look, take a few days, think it over, then we can talk again. All right?”

“Yeah.” Checking his watch, he realized if he didn’t leave then, he would be late for dinner. “I’ve got plans with my daughter, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you soon.”

Trudging out of the office and down to his waiting car, Malcolm lost himself in his thoughts.

_What am I going to do?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rose discovers what, precisely, the strange condition is.

_Thursday, continued_

All in all, Malcolm thought he put on a decent show at dinner. Determined not to let his daughter know something was on his mind, he poured all of his attention onto her with a single-minded focus.

Not that his interest was for _show_ \- he adored his (not so) little girl and found her utterly fascinating, was always curious about the goings-on in her life, but rarely did listening to her stories require so much effort.

 _But the important part_ , he congratulated himself as he pulled ice cream cartons from the freezer, _is she doesn’t suspect a thing_.

“So, what’s wrong?”

He froze, still facing the freezer shelves, and sighed. _Spoke too soon._ Smoothing his expression back to neutral he shut the door, resuming his assembly of sundae ingredients. “Nothing. What d’ya mean?”

“Dad. You’ve been weird all night. What is it?” Clara was seated at the island, eating the caramel topping with a spoon, watching him intently.

She looked no different from when she was a wee bairn or teenager, perched there, seeing far more than he ever wanted her to. _That girl is too damn clever,_ his ex-wife had always complained, and though he privately agreed would never admit that, usually pleased by her cleverness – except for when it was used to ferret out things he wasn’t ready for her to know. _At least she comes by it honestly._

“It’s… Uncle Wallace’s will was read today,” he started tentatively, waiting for her to nod, gauging her reaction. “It was as I expected… mostly. He has some conditions for me to inherit, and I have to decide… if I’m going to comply.”

“You? Comply?” The teasing tone from the doorway made his head snap up, and sure enough, Rose stood there with her hands on her hips, several cardboard boxes at her feet. “I’d pay to see that.”

Malcolm’s heart restarted itself at double-time, having stopped at her voice, and he was nearly weak with relief that she hadn’t accidentally overheard exactly what those conditions were. _That was too close._

Shaking his head he turned his back to buy himself some time. Any chance of getting away with not telling was gone, now that the two people on Earth who knew him best were in the same room. They were individually relentless when it came to getting what they wanted from him, and their tag-team act was unstoppable. Pulling down a third sundae bowl for Rose, he waited as the girls squealed and hugged, talking a thousand miles an hour as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, rather than ten days.

Watching with a fond smile, he thought back to the first time his daughter had come home for the weekend from uni, dragging her shy new roommate behind her.

_“Dad! This is Rose, my roommate. She’s my new best friend. Can she stay for sundaes? And possibly forever?”_

They’d both been scraps of nothing then, adults only in the legal sense. Now they were both thirty, mature women who worked for a living and travelled the world, and he mourned the girls they’d been even as he celebrated their accomplishments and growth.

Knowing from experience that once they started they wouldn’t stop, and tempted to let them forget the conversation, he took his time building his own sundae first, before sighing and giving in. “Right, who wants what?”

“Chocolate fudge ripple,” Rose immediately said, settling on one of the barstools on that side of the counter, licking her lips as she stared at one of the cartons. “And be generous with the scoops. I’ve been thinking about this _all_ fucking day.”

Malcolm shook his head, obeying as Clara studied her options. Ever the deliberate one, she could turn choosing a flavor into an art form. “Just because we’re not in the office, doesn’t mean I’m not still your boss, Miss Tyler. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I’m off the clock, hanging out with my bestie,” she shrugged, pulling the dish closer towards the toppings and piling on the chocolate sauce, whipped cream, sprinkles and cherries. “Besides, the very first time I was here you told me to make myself at home. I got you Neapolitan, Clar, just have some of that, would you?”

Not waiting for his daughter to hem and haw Malcolm scooped her just that, pushing the bowl towards her. Moving his own front and center, he stared at it for a moment before adding another few squirts of chocolate sauce to the mint chocolate chip tower of ice cream.

“No vanilla today?” His assistant didn’t miss a thing, eagle eyes noting his choices even as she devoured her own. “Decided to live it up?”

“Thought I’d test the limits,” he shot back, “dare to put myself out there.”

She just smirked, licking at the back of her spoon, and he had to tear his eyes away to focus on his daughter again, who was still staring at the various containers, dish untouched.

“You good with that?”

Sighing, Clara nodded, adding her own toppings. “Yeah, this’ll do.” That didn’t stop her from gazing at the rum raisin with a longing usually seen on sailors’ wives as he put the ice cream away before it melted.

“So, the inheritance?” she prompted, the freezer door shutting breaking her from her spell, and he had to hide a smile at how little she had changed from when she was knee-high to a grasshopper. _Not that she’s that much taller._ She had her mother to thank for that, and it amused him that even now at thirty, she barely came up to his chin in her bare feet.

_I’m getting old._

“I don’t want to talk about it now,” Malcolm hedged, eyes flickering over at Rose, who paused.

Tilting her head, she frowned. “Is this about me? My being in it, I mean?”

“What?” The ground shifted beneath his feet, eyes opening wide. “What do you mean- you _know_?”

“Well I don’t know details!” she protested, looking up at him. “But, yeah, I know I’m in it.”

 _She doesn’t seem mad. Does she not actually know?_ “What, precisely, _do_ you know?” he asked suspiciously. He’d known her for eight years, and would never guess she might know something like this existed and be okay with it. _What did he tell you?_

She hesitated, expression faltering as she glanced at Clara, who shrugged. “The last time I was there, a few months ago, he mentioned putting me in the will,” she said slowly. “That he thought I was a nice girl, and he wanted to take care of me. I protested- it’s not like I need or want his money- but he insisted. Said it was something he knew I’d had my eye on, wanted to make sure I got it, but he never said specifically. To be honest, I have been wondering. I’ve always loved that Renoir, on the staircase – any chance it was that?”

Malcolm snorted. “In a manner of speaking.”

Both women stared at him with identical arched eyebrows, and he sighed. His intention had been to tell Clara then take a few days to ponder, but realistically, the likelihood that she would keep something like _this_ a secret from her best friend was flimsy at best. “First, let me say I knew _none_ of this until Robertson called this afternoon.”

“Is that why you were upset, and needed to talk to Alex?” Rose asked delicately, and he nodded.

“You could say that.”

“Dad,” Clara warned, ”you’re being _weird_ again.”

“I thought I was always weird?”

Identical glares made his jaw snap shut, and he glanced between their faces. _This is humiliating. Now would be a perfect time for an earthquake, or heart attack, or some other natural disaster to prevent this conversation._ He stared up at the ceiling hopefully, but no relief came.

“Dad!”

“Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing at his face. “Right, here it is. Rose, Wallace left everything to me on the condition that- that-” He met her eye, saw the trust there, and slumped. “On the condition that we got married.”

Silence rang out in the kitchen as they stood there, staring at each other, and he watched the expressions fly across her face closely. Surprise, of course, confusion, curiosity- happiness? _That can’t be right_.

“Is that legal?” she finally asked, tone carefully neutral, and for the moment they both ignored Clara’s spluttering. Rose met his gaze head on, that spark of mischief and adventure hiding just below the surface, and his heart clenched.

“Apparently. You didn’t know?”

She shook her head slowly, the shock fading from her face. “I thought he might leave me a trinket or something- the most I hoped for was that Renoir. I mean-” Rose swallowed, and he felt slightly better that she hadn’t run away screaming.

_Yet._

“What, exactly, would it take to… to satisfy the terms?” She flushed, and after a moment he did too, not trusting himself to speak given where his mind had gone. “I mean- you know what I mean. And what if… you don’t?”

“If I don’t,” he said carefully, leaning on the countertop towards her, “everything goes to the government. As for the actual _terms_ , it was fairly simple, basically. Legally- well. Stay that way for five years.” He winced automatically, but she didn’t react other than to blink.

“When would all this have to happen?”

Malcolm paused, assessing her. _She’s too calm._ “Technically, in the next thirty days.”

Rose nodded slowly, before exhaling. “Right.” Standing up, she slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “Um, I’m going home. The samples are there. I will see you tomorrow and _you_ ,” she glanced at a wide-eyed Clara, “Saturday.”

“Uh huh!”

And then she was gone, leaving Malcolm alone with his daughter and three half-melted ice cream sundaes.

Just when he was starting to worry Clara moved, turning to face him and still looking stunned. “Okay, what the _fuck_? Start at the beginning, leave _nothing_ out!”

* * *

Rose startled awake, disorientated as she blinked and looked around, trying to remember what had happened. _Why am I on the couch?_ The noise coming from the hallway outside her flat coalesced, and she turned her head to stare blankly in that direction. _Who’s knocking at midnight?_

Yawning, she struggled upright, straightening her clothes and hair as she shuffled towards the door. Peering through the security hole, she rolled her eyes to herself. _Of course. Who else would it be?_

Swinging the door open, she stepped aside. “Hey.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Clara was still bright-eyed, full of energy, dumping her jacket and purse on Rose’s kitchen table and hustling to the kettle. “It’s only just gone midnight! Look alive!”

Rose followed her into the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe and trying to keep her eyes open. “D’you know, this was the number one thing I hated about living with you. I genuinely do not believe I have _ever_ seen you asleep, except for that time you got the flu. And even then, you were just groggy. How d’you do it?”

“Coffee!”

“Right.” Rose yawned again, hugging herself. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Clara paused then, leaning back on the counter and smiling sheepishly. “Wanted to check on you. That was something, wasn’t it?”

Brain still rebooting, it took Rose a minute to grasp her meaning. “You mean the part where your uncle is trying to marry me off to my boss?”

“Technically he was _Dad’s_ uncle. But, yes, that part. It’s bonkers, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” The kettle whistled then, and she shook her head. “Pour those, will you?” Not waiting for an answer she returned to the couch, curling up in one corner and pulling a fleece throw around her shoulders.

Clara followed her a minute later, carefully carrying two full mugs of tea. “Here we go, ton of sugar and a dash of cream, just how you like it,” she chirped, handing one over, adding when Rose coughed at the first sip, “and a splash of scotch.”

“Thanks,” Rose said dryly, watching her friend settle into the other corner and smiling. They’d done this a thousand times, during uni and after – spiked tea, curling up on the couch and talking about boys. _Malcolm’s not a ‘boy’. He’s her father. What the hell do I do?_

“So, what are you thinking?” the brunette prompted, watching her expectantly. “You haven’t said anything yet.”

“Who could get a word in edgewise?” A glare made her sigh. “I genuinely have no idea. I mean, yes- it’s bonkers.”

Clara froze with her tea halfway to her mouth, mug hovering oddly in mid-air. “Do I detect a ‘but’?”

Running her thumb along the lip of the mug, Rose tried to absorb the warmth from it as she organized her thoughts. “Losing the funding would be the end of the Foundation. Full stop. You _know_ he hates taking outside money, all the strings attached. Without the inheritance, it’s over. _Eight years_ of my life, gone. I’d have to get another job.” Staring down into her drink, she tried to picture going on interviews, job hunting and working for someone else. _I_ like _working for Malcolm. There’s a reason I never left._ “There’s no denying I’ve got it great right now, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“Is that it?”

Her friend’s even stare bore a hole in her defenses, and Rose ducked her head further, hair falling forward to cover her face. “I’m sure Wallace had his reasons,” she muttered defensively.

Silence lingered long enough for Rose to raise her head and make sure Clara was still there, only to find her watching with a calm, almost accepting expression on her face.

Nothing could have prepared her for Clara’s next words, however.

“You’re in love with my dad, aren’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Rose and Malcolm struggle through a workday as though nothing's changed, the will a dark cloud over their heads, a wild ex-wife appears.

Malcolm didn’t get a second of sleep that night. After more than an hour tossing and turning in bed, mind racing, he reluctantly reached for his tablet and glasses, turning on the bedside lamp.

A simple Google search turned up hundreds of thousands of articles on inheritance, but none seemed to offer any solutions to receiving the inheritance without meeting the stipulations of the will. _He was an old man, perhaps he was going senile? Why would he do this?_

He shot off an email to the will executor and solicitor, asking _Is it possible he was not in sound mind? Is there a previous version of the will that doesn’t include this marriage requirement?_

It was likely a vain hope, but he had to try. Resolving to forget about the marriage idea for the moment, he turned his attention to finding a job posting board. After a few false starts he tried _charity administrator openings_ London, and with a sigh, began reading through the first posting.

_No matter what happens, this is going to suck. Thanks a lot, Uncle Wally._

* * *

**_Friday_ **

By the time his alarm went off he was dressed and ready to go, texting Graham to cancel his morning pickup and deciding to take the Underground instead. Pausing just outside the gate and staring up at the townhouse, he realized with a jolt, _Everything I have is tied up in the Estate. If I lose this inheritance, I lose everything._

At twenty-seven he’d fled Glasgow before the ink on his divorce papers was dry, bringing Clara to London for a fresh start. His uncle had been kind enough to give him a job working for _The Thistle Foundation_ in the mailroom, and he spent most of the next decade working his way up and earning his keep until Wallace decided to retire, leaving Malcolm in charge. The townhouse went with the Estate, having been owned by the family since shortly after it was built, and he didn’t so much draw a salary from the Foundation as receive a stipend from his uncle.

_I’m fifty years old and have almost nothing to my name._

It had always been a given that he would inherit; Wallace had never had children, his only sibling Malcolm’s father, and Malcolm was in effect an only child, his brother having died decades ago. He’d never had to worry about assets, had few personal expenses. To lose the Estate would cost him everything.

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck_ fuck.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, barely making it through the doors onto the platform before they closed. Coming up to street-level he looked around, catching sight of the little shop Rose usually got their morning coffees from, only recognizing it by the familiar logo.

Stepping inside, it wasn’t until he was facing the cashier he realized he had no idea what Rose usually ordered. “Erm, hi. I don’t do this, my assistant is usually in here – pretty, blonde, big smile, name of Rose? D’you-”

“Oh, you must be Malcolm!” the girl, _Amy_ , gushed, eyes lighting up. “Of _course_ we know Rose, she’s in here everyday! Oi, Mel, Rose’s regular order, stat!” She turned back to him, finding him blinking at her in surprise. “Always nice to meet a fellow Scot. Rose is great, isn’t she?”

“The absolute best,” he agreed proudly, unsurprised but touched by the impression she obviously left everywhere she went. _That’s my gi- that’s Rose._ “I’d be hopelessly lost without her.”

“Too right. Anyway, here we are, that’s ten quid,” she passed over two large takeaway cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

 _Right._ Feeling like a moron, entirely out of sorts after first the previous day’s bombshell and then no sleep, he dug out a twenty-pound note and thrust it across the space. “Keep the change. Thanks.”

Picking up the order he made his way to the door, more focused on the drinks than where he was walking, elbowing open the door and slamming right into someone entering. “Shit!” He barely managed to keep hold of everything, coffee sloshing dangerously but only spilling a little, and he looked up to give the person a piece of his mind only to stop dead in surprise. “Oh, fuck me.”

Rose arched one eyebrow in response, a smile flickering over her lips. “I’d rather not get banned from here, if it’s all the same to you, ta.” She plucked one of the cups from his hand, lifting it to her nose before taking a large gulp. “What’re you doing here?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk they started down the street towards their building, falling naturally into sync.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in early. I saw the place, and…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she echoed, rolling her eyes. “Clara stopped by, talked my ear off until half two. Decided to just get a move on.”

The silence was awkward, which only served to annoy him; they had always had a good rapport, after the first six or so months once she had settled into her role. Now, eight years later he considered their partnership to be a well-oiled machine, two halves of a whole despite the on-paper power imbalance.

He held the door for her as they entered their building, nodding to the security guards as they buzzed through. Rose hit the button on the lift for their floor, and they rode up alone.

Malcolm followed her to her desk, watching as she flicked on the lights and shrugged off her coat, vaguely curious to her routine; she typically arrived only a few minutes before him- long enough to be settled and ready to face the day, but recent enough that his coffee was always hot and fresh.

“Oh!” she yelped, turning around to see him leaning on the corner of her desk, watching her. “D’you need something? My computer’s still booting up.”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, before he sighed, shoulders slumping. “No, I’m good. Just- oh, you know what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office.” Extracting his muffin from the pastry bag he slunk into his office, falling into his desk chair and turning to gaze listlessly out the window.

_What am I supposed to do?_

* * *

It was, quite frankly, the worst day of Rose’s professional career. Things got done, most of her duties able to be completed on autopilot after so long, but she could muster no spark to put into any of it. No banter. None of her signature Rose Tyler _charm_.

Her computer _ding_ ed and she glanced up from where she was poking at her salad halfheartedly to groan. “Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking _shitting_ me.”

“Rose Tyler!” Malcolm’s delighted voice made her jump and yelp, “I’m so _proud_ of you. That was almost a proper swear.”

“Missy’s on her way up,” she didn’t even look at him, clicking on the IM box from Mickey, the building’s security guard and one of her oldest friends. It was just an emoji, two wide eyes, but it was their code. “What do you want me to do?”

He sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll see her. I swear, she must have my office bugged or something.”

The lift dinged, and she raised her eyes to glance at him. _He looks like he’s having as rough a day as I am._ He’d said he hadn’t slept; had it been for the same reason she hadn’t? _No, he was probably thinking about the gala. Of_ course _it was about_ that _, dingbat._ “I’ll send her in.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared back into his office as Missy walked in, and Rose had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing or rolling her eyes. _What did he ever see in her?_ Missy Tucker was without comparison the most extravagant, eccentric person she’d ever met, and that included all of her mother’s rich society ‘friends’.

“Good afternoon, welcome to _The Thistle Foundation_ , do you have an appointment?” Rose asked sweetly, as the older woman approached her desk.

“I’d like to see my husband, please.” Missy’s smile was just as fake-sweet as Rose’s, as they went through the whole song-and-dance. One of the very first things Rose had been taught on her first day, by both Malcolm and her predecessor Jo, was to stall Missy as long as possible, making enough trouble that she didn’t find it worth it to visit the office.

 _This is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother_ , Rose lectured herself, pretending to stare intently at her screen for a moment. “I can give you a few minutes, but he has a call at one that he can’t miss.”

“Thank you.” And she swept past Rose into Malcolm’s office.

Once the door shut behind her, Rose let loose an undignified snort. Taking a subtle picture with her mobile, she texted it to Clara with the caption _Your mum’s here_.

Missy Tucker was the subject of ongoing amusement amongst the three; every time she appeared after months of no contact she had an entirely different style, often with a slight tweak to her features suggesting she was a fan of cosmetic surgery. Today her chosen look was that of _evil Mary Poppins_ , complete with a plum-colored ankle-length skirt and matching dress coat, a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck with an elaborate bow, black heeled boots, a delicate hat, and an umbrella Rose would swear was an actual prop from the movie.

She looked ridiculous, and like she would be right at home as the evil orphanage matron in a Victorian version of _Annie!_

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Clara pinged back almost immediately. _I love my Dad, but God I wish I was adopted. Please tell me I didn’t inherit her fashion sense!_

Snickering, Rose shook her head and returned to her work polishing up her resume. At precisely one o’clock she buzzed in on the intercom, using what Clara called her _flight attendant_ voice. “Malcolm, I have that potential donor on line two.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

A moment later the door opened and Missy stalked out, a murderous expression on her face. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she threatened her ex over her shoulder, ignoring Rose as she stormed towards the lift.

Rose waited until the lift doors closed before rising and entering Malcolm’s office. “So?”

He was lying on his couch with his head back against the cushions, a crystal cut glass of scotch hanging loosely from his hand. “She wants to reconcile, says she’s changed, wants to go back to what we once were.”

“What did you say?” She settled gingerly on the end of the glass coffee table by his head, watching as he opened tired eyes to stare at her.

“That _who we were_ went up in a flaming pile of shit twenty-three years ago when I caught her high in bed with the babysitter on our fifth wedding anniversary. That _who we were_ was a childhood friendship that went too far. That _who we were_ died many, many years ago.”

He looked so sad, Rose’s heart went out to him.

“It’s far, far too late now. A part of me will always miss that, always wonder, but… It’s ancient history. Never mind that this is all because of Wallace’s death and the inheritance. She didn’t say it, but I _know_ her. Anything that even sniffs of money or power and she’s first in line, plotting how to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered, giving him a kind smile. “You deserve better than her.”

Sighing, he struggled upright, turning to plant his feet on the ground and set the untouched glass of scotch on the coffee table next to her. “Thanks.”

Their eyes met, and for once, she didn’t blush and look away. Clara’s question from the previous night circled back through her mind, and she let herself actually _see_ him. Ice blue eyes capable of such a coldness shined back, warm and open, something only a privileged few were allowed to see. His strong features could be severe, Clara had once called them _attack eyebrows_ , but when he smiled… his entire face would light up, almost like he was a different person.

She'd always found him attractive, may have had the occasional fantasy involving them, a bottle of wine, and a hot tub, but _love_?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically licked her own. She would be lying if she said she’d never _wondered_ – didn’t everyone, at some point? He drew closer, and she realized that she was leaning in; they were _both_ leaning in. _Is this really happening?_

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding, and she could feel his breath against her lips when-

“Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter 4 will be available Tuesday 2/11


	4. Chapter 4

Malcolm sighed, levering himself up and around to face her, setting his scotch on the table next to her and smiling wryly. “Thanks.”

He glanced up at her, and found her staring at him with an intense expression. She didn’t look away, and his smile faded as he took her in. _God she’s beautiful._ It had taken him years to really see her, beyond the filter of his daughter’s friend. Once he’d seen it, though, he’d been sunk, unable to return to how things had been.

Body and soul, she radiated, shining with a goodness and kindness unparalleled – and he’d met many people with those qualities through the Foundation. 

It had been the most ordinary moment in the world, they’d been joking about pizza toppings of all things, and his heart had just… _expanded_.

_Like the bloody Grinch at the end of the movie._

Five years later the feeling had yet to go away; if anything it had continued to strengthen, mostly in the quiet moments. The ring of her laughter, the glint in her eye, the shine of her lip gloss. The casual touch as they would tease each other.

_Is she getting closer?_

Rose’s eyes flicked down to his lips, tongue darting out to wet her own, and his stomach bottomed out as heat raced through him. He leaned in slowly, watching with bated breath as her eyes closed, thinking _yes, yes, almost_ \- his own eyes slipped shut as he paused a hair’s breadth away, so, _so_ close to what he’d been aching for, what he’d been _waiting_ for, hoping, daring, _dreaming-_

“Dad?”

His daughter’s voice from the hallway was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water in his lap, shocking his senses and snapping his eyes open. By the time she entered his office he was around the back of the couch, leaning on it and doing his damnedest to act casual - an act severely hampered by Rose’s slow blink as her brow furrowed and her eyes opened, staring at him with a maelstrom of emotion in her eye.

“Whaaat’s going on?”

Rose stood, watching him watch her, and after a moment, her face shuttered. “I have a call to make, excuse me,” she mumbled, pushing past Clara without acknowledging her.

Entering further Clara made a face at Rose’s back, before looking at him. “What did I miss?”

“No, no, it’s- what’re you doing here?” Malcolm shifted the focus to her, coming around the sofa to hug her and kiss her forehead, simultaneously annoyed with her presence and horrified at that fact. In all her life he’d never allowed a romantic partner – especially not a potential one – to come between them, and yet right now all he wanted was for Clara to go away, to not have shown up.

 _So you could… what? What do you honestly think was about to happen?_ The thought of actually kissing Rose made his blood pressure soar, high enough he didn’t hear a word of Clara’s chatter. “Right, that’s great,” he cut her off mid-word, with no idea of what she was talking about or if it was, in fact, great. “You just missed your Mum if that’s why you’re here, and if not, I’m sorry, but I’m… on my way to a meeting,” he invented wildly, “across town, and I’m about to be late.”

“But, _Dad-_ ” Clara trailed after him as he grabbed his jacket and booked it to the door.

“Sorry, my love, we’ll have to talk later.” With another fleeting forehead kiss he all but ran, skipping the lift in favor of the stairs for no other reason than to keep moving, entirely uncertain of where he was going until he exited the door and found Graham waiting in the loading dock by the town car.

“Where to, boss?” his chauffeur asked, nonplussed as he folded his newspaper and opened the door, and Malcolm slid in thinking _If I lose the Estate I’ve got to drive myself. Or take the Tube._

He shook his head, meeting Graham’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Any-fucking-where but here.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Rose fled Malcolm’s office without even bothering to greet her friend, horrified and humiliated at what had just almost transpired.

 _I’m such a moron. He doesn’t_ want _me. How could I be so stupid?_

She found herself in the bathroom with no clear memory of getting there, washing her hands as she tried to think. _What do I do? What do I do what do I do what do I_ do _?_

The woman staring back at her from the mirror had no answer, nothing to offer. Tears leaked out of her eyes, not quite crying but not nearly as calm as she’d like to be.

The door creaking open made her turn to the hand dryer, offering her back to whoever was coming in and using the sound of the blower to cover her sniffles.

“Rose?”

Tears welled again at her best friend’s soft, soothing voice, but it was also the realization that for the first time in their friendship, she couldn't discuss her boy troubles with Clara. Malcolm was her father, and it just wouldn’t be _right_. _I’m on my own._

“Sweetheart.”

Clara’s hand on her shoulder released the floodgates, and Rose spun, throwing herself into her friend’s arms sobbing, relaxing into the welcome embrace.

_Whatever happens, I can’t lose Clara._

* * *

Once she pulled herself together they adjourned to Malcolm’s office, Rose hesitating in the doorway. “Clara-”

“He ran out, a meeting across town he claimed, like I can’t tell when he’s full of shit. C’mon.”

They settled together on the couch, kicking off their shoes and curling up as they had done so often, though never on this particular couch. _This isn’t the Tucker I’d like to be with like this_ , Rose thought morosely, feeling guilty at the idea. Clara was her very best friend in all the world, the one who knew all her secrets. It felt paramount to betrayal to think that.

“Wait!” Barefoot, Clara leapt off the couch, returning a moment later with the whisky decanter and two matching glasses. “Here.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Rose gave a token protest, nonetheless taking a mouthful of the liquid, enjoying the burn as it went down. Working for Malcolm had introduced her to the world of scotch, and he’d been a willing and enthusiastic teacher, telling her with an arrogant but teasing smile, _Rose Tyler, who better to teach you about scotch than a Scot?_

That had been the first, but hardly the last time she’d wanted to fist his stupid tee shirt, pull him closer, and snog the living daylights out of him. She’d once even had a dream that was essentially them doing body shots of whisky off each other across his desk. It had taken the better part of a week to look him in the eye without blushing afterwards.

Glancing up from the glass she found Clara watching her, head propped on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch for support. “What?”

“So, what exactly did I almost walk in on?”

“What d’you mean? Nothing. What?”

“Rose.” Clara shook her head, sighing. “C’mon. What was that? You’re both being far too weird for it to be nothing.”

She bit her lip, swirling the scotch just to watch the motion, uncertain of what to do. Normally she would confide, they had no secrets, but… this was just too strange.

 _Okay,_ one _secret._

“Nothing.”

“ _Rose._ ”

“What do you think of this whole… Wallace’s will thing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend in the universal _change the subject_ time-honored glare. “Did you know anything about it?”

“Of course not!” Clara gasped, outraged. “You think I’d know about something like that and not _tell_ you? More importantly, you think I could keep a secret that big? Come on!”

Rose had to smile at that, burrowing down slightly into the sofa. It was incredibly comfortable, and she knew Malcolm had spent more than a few nights on it during busy weeks. If she strained, she could almost catch a hint of his cologne. _You are so far gone. And an idiot._ “True,” she conceded, “but I had to ask.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I can _guarantee_ that Dad didn’t either; no way he’d let Wally pull a stunt like that. You know he respects you too much.”

“Thanks.” It hadn’t even occurred to her that Malcolm might have known, but in thinking about it, she knew he couldn’t have; he wouldn’t let that happen. He had, somehow, become one of her biggest supporters. Her faith in him was absolute. “So, what do you think I should do?”

Clara smirked, not hiding her face behind her glass quickly enough. “I dunno. Be my new mummy?” She shrieked with laughter when Rose swatted her, before yelping, “No, my whisky!” as it almost spilled.

They giggled together, and Rose shook her head, smiling softly. “Wouldn’t that be something. I suppose one could argue I’ve already had plenty of practice,” she teased, thinking about uni. They’d been alike in many ways, but while Clara liked to go out and party, Rose was more of a homebody, one who reluctantly accepted the designation of _mom-friend_ – which said more about her friends than it did about her, given that she wasn’t the particularly well-organized or neat-freak type. Everyone else had just been _worse_.

“You’ll be a good mum,” her friend said confidently, nudging Rose’s knee with her own. “No question.”

“That seems optimistic,” Rose snorted, trying to hide the twinge in her heart as she realized, “If I went through with this- for the Foundation, obviously- then I’ll be thirty-five and divorced. Bit late to start a family of my own.”

“What? That’s not true!” Clara protested, sitting upright. “We’re still plenty young! Lots of women have babies in their late thirties. Don’t give up!”

Smiling sardonically, Rose shook her head. “Oh, come on. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but definitely impractical. If a bloke is in his mid-thirties and never been married, or worse divorced, there’s a _reason_. No.”

Clara pursed her lips in thought for a moment before brightening. “I know! Go it alone. Adopt, or use a sperm bank. Do it on your own terms. Hell, it’s the twenty-first century – there’s plenty of ways to get _material_ from someone without going near their trousers. You could get some from my dad, for crying out loud – I always wanted a sibling.”

That had Rose laughing, trying to picture not only the conversation, but also the outcome. “You’d be, at a _minimum_ , thirty-one years older than your sibling. That’s just absurd – you’d always be mistaken for their mum!”

“You’re twenty-five years older than Tony,” Clara argued. “It’s not that different.”

Rose’s laughter trailed off as she pictured it; not Clara with a decades-younger sibling, but rather, Malcolm with a baby. _He’d worship another kid_. Once, after a scotch-too-many, he’d confessed one of his greatest life disappointments had been not having more children. She could _see_ it, clear as day, the gruff and severe Scot losing his shit over a tiny person, being absolutely fascinated by watching his child grow and learn, discovering the world. _No child could have a prouder father, that’s for sure._ She’d heard enough stories about Clara’s childhood to know that, not so much from the story itself but the pride and joy evident in the retelling.

Her heart ached at the thought, of sharing a home, a child, a _life_ with Malcolm. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she was in love with him, truly, madly, _deeply_ in love, the kind where other men held almost no interest for her. She wasn’t dead, could certainly appreciate a fine specimen of man when she saw it, but… she didn’t find herself wanting _more_. She winced, realizing it had been more than a year since her last shag, longer since her last actual relationship.

_He’s my standard._

It hurt to think, but it was true; she was constantly comparing other men to him, if subconsciously, and he came out on top every time. His jokes were funnier, his hair was better, his smile more charming, his eyes deeper. Whenever they would touch, mostly in passing with how often she handed things to him or vice versa, a spark would shock her wherever his skin touched hers.

“Clara-”

“Shit!” her friend cut her off, eyes widening as she reached for her buzzing mobile. “Shit, shit, _shit_. I’ve got a meeting with some parents, I can _not_ be late.” Shaking her head, she bounced up off the couch. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll still see you tomorrow night, yeah? Hold that thought. I gotta run, but I love you. Later, babe!”

And with a peck to the cheek she was gone, leaving Rose alone with her whisky and worries.

“Now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapter 5 will be available on Friday.


	5. Chapter 5

_Saturday_

Rose stretched out on her sofa, closing her eyes and trying to relax. Tony was sprawled out on the carpet in front of her, glued to the telly and his favorite movie – today, Toy Story.

As the movie played in the background she tried to organize her thoughts about Wallace’s will, tried to determine when or how the old man had gotten the idea for her and Malcolm to marry. She couldn’t even remember if the three had ever been in the same room together prior to the funeral; usually she would go visit him if Malcolm was away or otherwise unable to make his thrice-weekly visit, and even that had only been a dozen or so times over the last few years since Wallace had moved to the assisted living facility.

 _Was he starting to lose his mental facilities?_ For his age the man had been sharp, hampered only by his body beginning to fail to the point where he could no longer stay at home. She knew Malcolm and Clara had lived with him after leaving Scotland, staying in the family townhouse ever since, had done everything possible to keep him there. _Did he misunderstand my position in Malcolm’s life? Did he think somehow we were more than that?_

The very thought of _more_ with Malcolm made her breath catch, desire and longing and fear fighting for top billing in her heart. _If only he wasn’t Clara’s dad_ , she lamented once again, as she had so often since realizing she was-

A knock on the door broke her concentration, and with a sigh, she swung her legs off the couch and stood up.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” she spoke to her brother’s back, rolling her eyes when he ignored her, totally engrossed in Buzz and Woody’s first meeting.

 _There’s a dirty joke in there, somewhere,_ she mused, checking the peephole out of habit before freezing. _Shit. Shit shit shit. Should I pretend I’m not_ -

“I know you’re home,” Malcolm said dryly from the other side of the door, “let me in, would you? Your neighbor’s giving me an evil eye.”

Undoing the lock, Rose swung the door open to reveal her boss. “You probably deserve it.” But she smirked as she said it, and after a moment, he shook his head.

“I stop by to check on you after you leave work early ‘feeling sick’ – for the first time in eight years, I’ll add – and this is the thanks I get?”

“That was literally twenty-four hours ago. I appreciate your promptness.” Stepping aside she let him in, locking the door as he waited in the entryway. “Seriously, what’re you doing here?” She couldn’t remember a single time he’d shown up unannounced; the minor tweaks to their routine in the past few days had her more rattled than she’d care to admit, this being just another one on the growing list.

Malcolm shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets and glancing towards the living room. “Hot date?”

“Love of my life,” she said truthfully enough, lips quirking. “Is this a conversation better had in private?”

“Probably.”

Rose nodded, not waiting for him to follow as she made her way through the joint living/dining area, saying, “Tony, my boss is here. We’re going to talk in my bedroom, ok? Just give me a shout if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Once inside she shut the door and turned, realizing a beat too late that she had just led her _boss_ into her _bedroom_. _And the bad decisions just keep on coming._

To his credit Malcolm had stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room, glancing around with clear interest. “So…”

“So.” She gestured to the bench at the foot of her bed for him to sit, pulling her vanity chair over to face him. “What’s up?”

He let out a deep breath, staring down at his hands and examining them as if he’d never seen them before. “First, I want to apologize. The… _terms_ of Wallace’s will were as much a surprise to me as they were to you. Had I known, I certainly would have- well, I don’t honestly know what his intentions were, but I sure as fuck would’ve _asked_. I did speak to his solicitor, but they have clear documentation that he was in his right mind, so there’s no chance of invalidating it in favor of a previous version which included no strings, unfortunately.”

Pausing, he peered up at her, but all she could offer him was a shrug.

“Okay.”

“Erm, right. So. That leaves us with three options. Number one, do nothing. Always appealing, but in this case, that’s the end of the Foundation and everything we- I have. Two – fight the will in court, try to get the condition stricken from it, but I expect that would be a long and ultimately fruitless and expensive battle. And three… to- well- _capitulate_.”

Rose nodded, having already determined that for herself. “And what are you thinking?”

“That I don’t want things to change,” he said honestly, offering her a wry smile. “I love the work that we do, the _way_ that we do it. I believe in everything the Foundation does. To lose it – and everything else I have – is a terrifying thought. But I have no right to ask that much of you.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed, before sighing. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer.”

“What?” Malcolm’s head snapped up, eyes going comically wide as he stared at her. “I don’t- what?”

“I’m not giving you an answer,” Rose maintained, shrugging, “but… that also means I’m not saying no. I feel the same way about the Foundation, and I hate to think of all of that disappearing. But it’s a _lot_. I just… I don’t know.”

To her relief he didn’t look mad, not that she had genuinely expected him to. “Right. What next, then? Do you want to discuss it all? Shall I leave you alone?”

“No!” Rose blurted when he tried to stand. “I mean, yes, let’s talk. If- _if_ \- I said… yes, what would that involve? What would it mean? To you, for us- everything, I mean. Just… what?” Pressing her lips together tightly she cursed her own inarticulation, annoyed with herself. She had worked hard to build her reputation as being unflappable, of professionalism and efficiency, and this whole situation was throwing that all out of the window.

_Damn you, Wallace._

Blinking, Malcolm sat back down, running his fingers through his hair. “Well- I mean- in many ways, nothing would have to change. I suppose.”

She arched an eyebrow when he paused.

“What? Right. Erm, I would never expect- that is to say- I wouldn’t… nothing would change _personally_. Legally, we’d- well. And you would- _could_ \- move into the townhouse, and you know perfectly well that there are plenty of guest rooms.” He swallowed, eyes skittering around the room before returning to her. “There’s something you should know, that Clara doesn’t. Or at least, we’ve never discussed – I suppose her mother could have told her. Or she found out on her own.”

“And that is…” Rose prompted.

Malcolm’s lips twisted. “The ‘estate’ is an actual estate. And… a title.”

She was glad to be sitting, as for just a moment the world went sideways. “What? A _title_? Since when!”

“Since always. Centuries. It’s fairly minor, just a Viscount, but it does exist and goes with the estate. Well, it _is_ the estate, technically.”

“So Wallace had a title as well? What is it, anyway?”

“Yes, he never wanted to use it, but it was always there. _Viscount Gallifrey_ is the title itself.”

Rose closed her eyes briefly, concentrating on her breathing to keep from getting dizzy. “Sorry, so if we- if _I_ -”

“Viscountess.”

“Whoa.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah, _woah_. I mention it because if we- well, you would…”

“Right.”

_Viscountess. Me?_

* * *

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Malcolm had to fight back a smile as he watched the cogs turn in Rose’s mind. He knew she wasn’t motivated by the thought of money or a title, but to see his usually-unflappable assistant so rattled was more than a bit amusing.

_She’d run a house like clockwork._

The thought was wistful, and it hurt his heart. If she’d been just anyone, a random woman off the street, he would’ve asked her out years ago. But, no- she just _had_ to be his daughter’s best friend, and though he could overlook that, she was also the daughter of a business partner – and he never did anything that could risk the Foundation. He’d been working with Pete Tyler for close to fifteen years, the man and Vitex combined roughly fifteen percent of the Foundation’s non-Gallifrey funding.

_I can’t do that to him._

“So, would there be anything to do with that? Any responsibilities, for me, I mean?” Rose’s voice pulled him out of his own head, and for a moment, he just blinked at her.

“Oh! Yes. I mean, not what it would’ve been a century or two ago, but still yes. Nothing too different from your current duties, mostly overseeing things. We have a full staff at the estate itself, who manage everything for us. Mrs. Cooper would report to you, as she currently does to me. It shouldn’t add to your workload too much.”

She nodded, still looking lost in thought, and he tried to think of anything else she would have to know, uncertain of what he wanted her answer to be; his heart wanted her to say yes, but his head knew she would have to say no. _I can’t lose her._ “Erm, just a note- there aren’t any _official_ engagements or duties or anything. Not that I would attend or deal with, at least; no invitations to court, no hobnobbing with the aristocracy. You’re not- you wouldn’t be joining the royal family, or anything. So you know.”

“That’s a relief,” Rose grinned wryly. “I’ve never been a fan of playing nice with the uppity-ups.”

Malcolm scoffed, shaking his head in favor of replying. She was easily the most charming person he knew, able to win over everyone she’d ever met with _very_ few exceptions. He suspected, deep in the cavern of her chest where a heart would normally reside, even Missy liked her – and his ex-wife didn’t like _anyone_. Often including their daughter. _You’re in too deep._

“I should go,” he decided on the fly, standing abruptly without consciously deciding to. “Let you enjoy your weekend. Listen, whatever you decide, obviously I understand and support you. But, please- don’t feel obligated. I want you to be happy.”

“Oh… okay.” Rose’s face flushed. “I just… I just don’t know.”

He nodded. “I understand. Take some time. And if you have any conditions or… compensation in mind, draw up a list and we can talk when you’re ready. You know I’m reasonable.” That wasn’t strictly true, but when it came to Rose, he found himself hard-pressed to say _no_ to anything she suggested; it was why he ate salads for lunch twice a week after all, despite his detest for leafy greens.

_Way, way too deep._

“Well, thanks for stopping by,” Rose said, as they made their way back through the flat to the front door. “I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know if you need to talk.”

With another smile and a soft _bye_ she closed the door, and he waited until he heard the deadbolt slide into place to turn and head for the lift, avoiding her neighbor’s glare peering from a crack in the door.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk and turning up his coat collar against the wind, he debated where to go. On a Saturday he had few options for company; since moving to London he’d always spent the day with Wallace (and Clara, in her younger years), and he once again felt the loss of his uncle keenly. _It’s only been a month, but feels like years._ Since his passing he’d been left adrift, with Clara busy with her boyfriend and Rose with Tony, nevermind the awkwardness of the will hanging over them.

With a sad sigh he headed down the block towards where Graham was parked, deciding to head into the office.

_Might as well work while I still can._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The next chapter will be available on Tuesday


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Malcolm continue to wrestle with the life-changing decision staring them down.

Rose hummed to herself as she started the kettle, waiting for her computer to boot up. She’d woken that morning determined to arm herself with knowledge, as she struggled with the impossible decision.

“Morning.”

She yelped, jumping and spinning to find Malcolm standing beside her desk, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile, not fooling her for a moment. Though his lips didn’t move his eyes brightened, a clear tell, not that she would ever admit to knowing it.

“S’okay,” Rose settled herself in her chair, typing in her password before peering up at him. “Coffee’s on your desk, tea’s just starting. You’ve got a nine o’clock who should be here shortly. Anything I can- Anything I should know?”

If he caught her change of phrasing he didn’t let on, merely shaking his head. “No, thank you. After I’m finished with Ben, let’s meet and go over the details for the Gala – I want to know where we stand, and I’ll let you know which of the samples I’ve picked.”

“Sounds good.” Rose watched him enter his office before sighing softly. Things were no less strange, and she missed the easy way they had once had, one that had vanished upon the reading of Wallace’s will. _Will getting married bring it back, or will we forever be so awkward around each other?_

Turning her attention first to her emails, she prepared for their Gala meeting while waiting for Ben Jackson, who, with his wife Polly, ran a charity that oversaw more than a dozen orphanages spread throughout the Commonwealth. Their organization was to be the main recipient of the Gala’s proceeds. Every year Malcolm (and Rose, by extension) tried to pick a different group with a different mission to benefit from the Gala, though most were annual grant recipients anyway.

An instant message popped up from Mickey stating _BJackson on way_ , alerting her that Ben would shortly be arriving, and by the time the man himself buzzed into the office and made his way to Rose’s desk she had a mug of tea ready for him, already prepared to his taste.

“You are an _angel_ , Rose Tyler,” he declared, grinning, taking a sip before sighing softly and closing his eyes. “Perfect. You ever get tired of working for Malc, come see me first, okay?”

“Yeah, all right,” she agreed readily enough, laughing. “Though my dad might have something to say about that, and besides, I don’t foresee ‘getting tired’ of Malcolm, so don’t hold your breath.”

Taking his mug towards Malcolm’s office, he threw a wink over his shoulder. “I can dream, though.”

Rose watched him go, smile slipping as she considered her answer. It had been glib, said without thinking, but she realized it was true. She didn’t _want_ this to end, loved her job, her life. From where she sat she could see the London Eye and Westminster behind it. Everything she did went towards helping people, making a real difference in their lives with the grants the Foundation gave. _The only way to keep things from changing is to change them completely._

Turning back to her monitor, she bit her lip before sighing. Opening a new tab in her browser, she hesitated only a moment before typing into the search engine _Viscount Gallifrey_ , and clicking on the first link.

_Let’s see what exactly that means._

* * *

Malcolm shook Ben’s hand and thanked him for coming in, waiting until the door swung shut behind him to sink back into his desk chair and close his eyes. It was impossible to concentrate; the only thing his mind would focus on was the sticky situation with the will. The only variation on that was the memory of Rose’s bedroom, how it had been such an authentic expression of _her_. Soft pinks, solid cherry furniture, it was elegant and understated, and if he’d been given a hundred photographs of bedrooms and told to guess which was hers, he would’ve been right.

_Shit, I’ve gone to mush_ , he lamented, unable to quite bring himself to care or feel guilty for it. He’d truly accepted his feelings a year or two earlier, and was slowly losing the war against them. _You could just tell her_ , the insidious voice in his head whispered, as it had been doing for ages now. _It’s not her fault, and it’s not her problem,_ he argued back. _She didn’t ask for this, hasn’t done anything deliberate. I can’t burden her with my feelings._ That was the last thing he wanted, her pity or apologies. This was his personal hell to bear, loving her from afar.

“Malcolm?”

The tap on the door made him jump, and he looked up to see the subject of his thoughts in the doorway, holding her tablet and portfolio folder with an uncertain expression. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, c’mon in,” he waved, and she did, letting the door slip shut behind her. She settled at the chair across the desk from him, and he grit his teeth against the flare of annoyance at the change of behavior – when they’d had this same meeting the previous Wednesday they’d spent two hours sitting on the couch nearly hip to hip, his heart aching for her – now she was farther away than ever, both physically and emotionally.

_Damn you, Wally_.

“So, you made your selection from the samples?”

“Uh, yeah.” Malcolm shook his head to clear it, finding the appropriate folder and handing it over. “Here. I appreciate you filtering the list down; if you disagree with any of my choices, we can discuss. How is everything else coming along?”

Rose opened her folder organizer, sliding the manila folder he gave her into the back. “I’ll take a look at those and confirm, though I’m sure it’s fine. Venue’s good, we just sent the second deposit. They handle the catering, and we signed off on the menu last week. Same for flowers. RSVPs are flowing in nicely, right on target. Once I get these final selections to Monica everything should be settled.”

“Good, good.” He’d expected nothing less, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs and wondering at how low he had sunk, making up a meeting just to see his own assistant. “Anything else I should know about?”

“You haven’t said if you’re bringing a- a plus one. For headcount purposes, of course.” Her eyes were a little too innocent to be convincing, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Uh, no, not planning on it.” That was truthful enough; the event was five weeks away. By that time, either she would be his date as his new bride, or he would have no need of one, it being the last official event of the Foundation as they closed up, having missed the inheritance requirement deadline. “Well, Clara’s on the guest list, right?”

Rose nodded. “‘Course. She’s already replied- she’s bringing Danny. Our table’ll be them, my parents, the Jacksons… and us.” She flushed slightly, and his ears reddened in response, embarrassed by how much he liked hearing her call them _us_. _Pull it together, Tucker._

“Sounds like a solid plan. Anything else?” Then, unable to resist getting confirmation despite her implication to the contrary, he asked, “Are you bringing anyone?”

She let out an unlady-like snort, shaking her head. “Um, no. I’m so busy the night of anyway, wouldn’t make any sense even if I had a bloke. Nah, I’ll force you onto the floor if I want a dance. Much less embarrassing than with my dad.”

“Okay.” He took a moment to picture it, them swaying on the dancefloor together, having the excuse of the music to hold her close as he did every year. It was, quite possibly, one of his most favorite nights of the year. “That’s good.”

They sat in silence for several moments as he cast his mind desperately for a topic of conversation, before sighing. “If there’s nothing else-”

“There’s not,” Rose leapt at the chance, rising quickly and picking up her folders. “Lots to do, of course, but nothing for you to concern yourself with. Don’t forget to call Ace – she’s having trouble with the billing, I told her you’d ring her to help.”

“Will do, thank you.”

“Thank you.”

And she scurried away, leaving Malcolm feeling terribly alone in his office.

* * *

“Thistle Foundation, this is Rose,” Rose answered the phone using her headset automatically as she hit send on her email.

“Don’t you ever answer your mobile?”

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to bite back a sigh. “Hi, Mum. What’s up?”

“You’d already know if you’d answer when I ring you!”

_I do not have the time or energy for this bullshit._ “I’m at work, and it’s been busy. What’s going on?”

Jackie huffed down the line, setting Rose’s teeth on edge. “I wanted to remind you- and Malcolm- that we’re moving the cookout up to this weekend, since we’re away the next. Your father expects him to bring some more of that special whisky he brought last time – from Gallifrey, or something, wasn’t it? Doesn’t sound Scottish though, more Irish. Though why would a Scot have Irish whisky?”

Thanks to Rose’s earlier search, which had informed her of the whisky distillery on the estate she would soon potentially be Lady of, the name drop wasn’t a major surprise, though she did feel a little jolt at realizing Malcolm’s preferred brand was, indirectly, made by him. “I’ll tell him,” she said, and if her voice was faint, her mother didn’t seem to notice.

“Good. Tony’s requesting your special mac’n’cheese. You’ll be there around eleven?”

“That’s the plan. Um, Clara’s bringing Danny, by the by. Hope that’s all right.”

Jackie clucked her tongue, but merely said, “Sure, we can squeeze him in. I’m just waiting for the day _you_ bring a bloke to these cookouts. I’m not getting any younger, Rose, and I want grandchildren before I’m eighty. You’re not getting any younger either.”

“Uh huh. Listen I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you Sunday. Say hi to Tony and Dad for me. K, thanks, bye.” And she hung up without waiting for a response, lowering her head to the desk and groaning.

“All right?”

“My mother,” she replied, voice muffled, not bothering to lift her head.

His _ah_ perfectly encapsulated her own feelings on the subject, and she appreciated, as always, his understanding. She loved her mother, she did, but _God_ she could be a pain in the arse.

“She wanted me to remind you the cookout’s this Sunday since they’re away, and Dad wants more of that whisky.” Her head popped up then, and she peered at him. “You never mentioned it comes from your estate, by the by.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Didn’t seem worth mentioning. Besides, that’s only a technicality – it’s independently operated. They use our name, our land, our river, and our barley. In exchange, they harvest all the crop, not just what they use, pay ten percent of net profit in rent, and we get plenty of the final product for free. Doesn’t sound like much, but they pull in a tidy sum, enough that our portion is more than we would get in rent from anyone else paying a straight fee on the land. It’s mutually beneficial, and reasonably equitable.”

Rose nodded, processing that. _Free whisky – that’s worth a pretty penny._ Then she realized where her mind had gone, and swallowed hard against it. _Not that I’m actually considering this, or anything._ “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she said honestly.

His lips twitched almost into a smile before smoothing out again. “Thanks. Anyway, I can do that – might as well bring him a case. I’ve got a few in transit, figure I might as well stock up while I can. Though God knows where I’ll put it after- anyway. I’m meeting Ace for lunch at half past noon at the place near- you know what I mean. Can you make a reservation under my name? I’ll probably be gone a few hours – her accountant’s gotten the billing all fucked up.”

“Can do,” she said, already half-way through placing the reservation by the time he finished speaking. “I’ll let Graham know. Anything else?”

“That’s it, for the moment. Thanks.”

And he was gone, disappearing back into his office, while Rose sank back into her chair and replayed his throwaway statement several times.

_-stock up while I can. Though God knows where I’ll put it after-_

_He thinks I’m going to say no_ , she realized with a jolt. _He’s already making plans to that effect._

_But of course I’m going to say no,_ a voice argued in her mind. _I can’t_ marry _him. That’s absurd._

It was absurd, and yet the longer she thought about it…

_I don’t know what to do._

She tried to ignore the whisper in the back of her mind that said _yes, you do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Sunday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a Sunday cookout with the whole family, Rose makes a split-second decision that changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, sorry for the abrupt hiatus. I was away last week and didn't quite get caught up as quickly as I'd hoped to.

Turning her car off, Rose leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, breathing deeply in preparation. Things in the office had only grown more awkward and tense as they danced around each other, the uncomfortableness spilling over into her relationship with Clara, which only made her feel worse.

_It’s a yes_ or no question, she reminded herself once again. _Just make a decision and stick to it – put_ all _of us out of our misery, so the weirdness can stop and we can start making our plans._

The sound of another engine made her eyes open, and she climbed out as Malcolm pulled in next to her. Locking her car she waited while he, Clara, and Danny emerged, mustering a wan smile for them all. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Malcolm nodded, grabbing a bottle from the backseat as Clara gave her a hug.

“Hey,” her bestie whispered in her ear, “how are you?”

Rose shrugged, holding her a little tighter. “In knots,” she said honestly. “I still don’t know what to do.”

“There you are,” her father called, and they all turned to find him at the front door. “C’mon in.”

They followed him through the house and out onto the patio, where everything was set up. Tony was playing in the shallow end of the pool under their mother’s watchful eye from a nearby lounge chair, while the grill was ready to go off to the side. Two long tables groaned under the food already out, with a few designated spaces for what Rose and the Tuckers had brought. Rose’s contribution was a bottle of white wine and a baked mac’n’cheese recipe Tony loved, while Malcolm had brought the whisky, Clara some cut up fruit, and Danny the brownies.

“Looks great, Mum,” Rose greeted Jackie, hugging her.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Oi, Tony, out of the water!” Releasing her eldest she turned to Clara, greeting her in much the same way. “So nice to have all of you here, come, put your things down.”

“Thanks for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler,” Danny said politely, making Pete chuckle and wave his hand.

“Very pleased to have you join us. Really. And it’s Pete and Jackie – I insist.”

As everyone greeted each other and began chatting, Rose smiled and watched.

_This is my family._

* * *

Standing next to the grill on a warm, sunny day, holding a beer, was pretty much exactly Malcolm’s ideal way to spend an afternoon. His daughter sat nearby, the occasional tinkle of her laughter music to his ears as she talked to Danny and Jackie, but in truth, nearly all of his attention was on Rose.

She’d changed into a swimsuit, a one-piece that was fairly modest for what it was, and was in the shallow end splashing with her brother. It didn’t take his imagination much effort to picture her in the pool at the townhouse – in fact, it was too easy to see her with a toddler of their own, teaching their son (or daughter, he wasn’t picky) how to swim.

In fact, he didn’t just want it; he _craved_ it, ached for it, sometimes dreamed of it so vividly he would wake reaching for her, expecting her next to him, confused and heartbroken when she wasn’t there until reality seeped back in.

Sometimes he didn’t want to wake up.

“Oi.”

A nudge startled Malcolm from his daydream, and he turned Pete, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“D’you mind not ogling my daughter right in front of me while we’re trying to have a conversation? When you’re not glaring at Danny for doing just the same, that is.”

His jaw dropped, trying to come with an answer. “I wasn’t- that’s not- I-”

After a moment Pete laughed, waving a hand. “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” his friend said easily. “How are plans for the Gala going?”

Malcolm just blinked, trying to reboot his brain and cursing his overactive imagination. It had been one thing, when his dreams were just that, but the intrusion into his waking life was bound to get him in trouble sooner or later.

And, strictly speaking, he hadn’t been _ogling_ Rose. Yes, okay, he might have been staring in her general direction, but he wasn’t picturing her naked – _it’s early yet; how long is she going to stay in the pool?_ – though somehow he didn’t think Pete would appreciate what he _was_ thinking any more than what he assumed.

_Did he ask a question?_

“The Gala’s going fine,” he finally answered, taking a long pull off his bottle and turning his back firmly on his assistant to focus on her father. _Her FATHER. If Danny were looking at Clara the way I am Rose, I’d thump him – and he’s neither too old for her or a friend of mine, both of which I am. Pull your shit together, Tucker._ “Rose is, of course, an incredible help. No surprise she’s what makes the event what it is.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Pete was still smirking, though, a look Malcolm didn’t appreciate. “My daughter’s one of a kind.”

“That she is.” Casting about for a change of subject, he asked, “Tony’s starting school this year, isn’t he?”

The other man didn’t seem fooled in the least, but went along with it. “Reception. Hard to believe. Honestly, I’m not looking forward to his school years. Well, the other parents, really. When Rosie was little we got looked down on for being so young, and I’m sure now we’ll be judged for being too old. I don’t particularly care myself, but Jacks has been going on about it all summer and nothing’s even happened yet.”

“I know that feeling,” Malcolm agreed, smiling at the memory of Clara’s first day of school. “It was the same for us – always judged and excluded for our ages. Not that Missy or I particularly cared, but they tended to treat Clara as a pariah as well, and you can imagine how well I took that. How do you judge a child for their parents’ decisions? Unbelievable. Thankfully things were better once we moved to London, but still. Judgemental pricks.”

They toasted, draining their bottles as one, and Malcolm didn’t hesitate to take the empties and exchange them for new, easily removing the lids.

“To tell the truth, I’m just glad to have the second chance,” Pete murmured, eyes flickering over to his wife to ensure she couldn’t hear. “We’d long accepted she would be it when he came along, but I’m so glad he did. I think I did well with Rose, but this time around I can really appreciate it, you know? I was so focused when she was young on Vitex, on getting us out of the Estate that I missed things.”

Malcolm hummed but didn’t respond; they’d covered all of this before, and he knew his friend sometimes just felt the need to ‘speak it to the universe’, to quote Jackie.

“D’you think you’ll ever have another?”

Startled, Malcolm choked on his beer, going into a coughing fit that lasted long enough for Rose and Clara to shout in unison, “Stop it!”

“Your concern is overwhelming,” he wheezed, making his daughter roll her eyes and earning himself a rude gesture from Rose. “I’m fine, thanks.”

When he straightened up Pete was waiting patiently with a napkin, arching an eyebrow when he took it. “Not sure that qualifies as an answer.”

Wiping his mouth, Malcolm bought himself a few seconds to think before sighing. “In theory, yes, I’d like another. But practically… it just doesn’t seem to be in the cards. And I don’t think Clara would take it with the grace that Rose did.” He smiled wryly, remembering her reaction to the announcement – it had been at a Sunday dinner so similar to this one, and she had been so overwhelmed with joy that she was still bouncing off the walls the next day in the office, right up until they’d been mid-conversation and her face had contorted in horror.

_“What’s wrong?”_

_Rose stared at him, gagging slightly. “I just realized that if this baby was unplanned, my parents are having more sex than I am, and_ I’m _the one in my mid-twenties.”_

The memory made him chuckle, as had how she would periodically break out in full-body shivers every so often during the months of her mother’s pregnancy. “She loved him from the first moment.”

“She did take it well,” Pete agreed, “and she’s such a help. There’s nothing like a reliable, _free_ childminder you can trust without hesitation. She’ll be a spectacular Mum, when the time comes.”

Malcolm wholeheartedly agreed, but decided a neutral _mhmm_ was the safer response, lest he let slip the secrets buried deep in his heart. _Things are weird enough right now, no need to make it worse._ Still, he couldn’t help but turn enough that he could watch Rose out of the corner of his eye.

_A spectacular Mum indeed._

* * *

“So-”

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed as she fought back a groan at her mother’s would-be casual tone, not fooled for a moment. Despite her best efforts she’d gotten caught alone with her in the kitchen, and it had been two agonizing minutes of idle chit chat as Jackie built up to her favorite topic of conversation, as if Rose didn’t know where it was headed.

_The same place it always is, lately._

“Are you seeing anyone?”

_There it is._

“Yes, only he’s an alien, see, and off travelling the universe and saving alien planets, which is why I never bring ‘im around.” She rolled her eyes, turning around to face her mother, unsurprised at the death glare she was receiving. “You know I’m not. It’s just been too busy lately.”

“But, Rose, you’ve been saying that for _years_. It was one thing when you were young, but you’re _thirty_ now. You’re running out of time.”

“Oh my God.” Wanting to physically run from the conversation she settled for the mature thing of picking up a platter of food and heading for the door. “I am _not_ having this conversation with you. Is it really so hard to accept that I’m happy with my life?”

Not one to let anyone else have the last word Jackie followed hot on her heels with the other tray. “How could you be! No husband, no children… and while it might seem like it at the moment, a vibrator and your brother are _not_ satisfying substitutes!”

Rose stopped dead, staring in dismay at the four horrified faces looking back at her. Though she was still a few steps from the table and her mother behind her, they’d all clearly heard her, _the whole fucking country probably had_ , and her eyes darted between them all gauging their reactions. Her father was disgusted, poor Danny uncomfortable and now staring at his hands, Clara’s eyes were very wide and her jaw open, and Malcolm… Malcolm looked ready to bust a gut laughing, leaning forward on the table, and despite both hands clasped over his mouth, was unable to hide the smile in his twinkling eyes, and when their eyes met, he winked.

Her eyes darted to the pool and for one wild moment she seriously considered throwing herself into it before slowly spinning around. “Shut. _Up_.”

* * *

Malcolm stuffed a forkful of lettuce in his mouth, glancing idly around the silent table as almost everyone else ate. While Jackie sat very stiffly across from him glaring at her daughter and not moving, Rose was on his left and bouncing her leg like her life depended on it as she looked everywhere but at Jackie.

For the third time in as many minutes her knee bumped the table, jostling it, and on instinct Malcolm settled his hand on it to calm her. It worked almost too well as she froze, and their eyes met for only a moment before his gaze skittered away. He thought about moving it, but rather than being tense at his touch she let out a deep breath and almost seemed to relax, and just because he’d always wanted to and couldn’t help himself, he slowly rubbed his thumb against the side of her knee. It was as soft as he’d always imagined, smooth, and she didn’t seem to mind given she hadn’t swatted his hand away. _Did she just sigh?_

“You know, there’s a nice young man working for your father,” Jackie started abruptly, Rose’s aggravation returning as quickly it had dissipated, based on how her leg tensed beneath his hand.

_For fuck’s sake, doesn’t she ever stop?_

The answer was _no_ , apparently, as she continued to chatter, oblivious to their audience or her daughter’s humiliation. “He’s looking for a girl to marry. Maybe I should invite him to lunch next week. Or! Mickey says he’s got a friend you’d get on well with, you should ask him about that. I know you think you’ve got all the time in the world, but really, it would take a least a year to plan the wedding, and thirty-two _sounds_ young but you might be surprised how long it takes you to get pregnant, and your body won’t bounce back as quickly as you’d like- we can’t all be like those celebrities, back to looking like sticks six weeks after giving birth. You know, this might be an idea- start planning your wedding _now_ , you should book two years out anyway- then just find your groom along the way! You can’t afford to lose any time, and really, by now all the decent men are probably married, if not in committed relationships. The longer you wait the more likely you are to have an ex-wife to deal with, maybe even step-children, and God help you then. And if there are, then the ex will probably be a _total_ nightmare, ‘cause if she wasn’t they’d still be married, wouldn’t they? And I don’t mean an annoyance like you complain about Missy, I mean a _real_ pain in the ass. Though you may get lucky and find a nice widower- come to think of it, maybe you should go to Tony’s school events once he starts, you might meet some single fathers-”

_Doesn’t this woman ever breathe?_ Malcolm rolled his eyes, glancing over at Rose to see metaphorical steam coming out of her ears; the one time he’d screwed up badly enough to earn that stink eye himself it had been enough to scare him straight. _At least for a little while_.

Even as he watched her he saw the final straw break her back, uncertain of what it was having tuned Jackie out, but nothing could have prepared him for how Rose interrupted her mother.

“Malcolm and I are getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Chapter 8 will be available on Tuesday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout.

Rose’s nails dug into her palms so hard it hurt, as she tried desperately to focus on the pain rather than the stream of words coming from her mother’s lips. _Doesn’t she_ get _it?_ she raged, glaring across the table. _Why can’t she just leave me the fuck alone?_

Malcolm’s warm palm on her knee was all that was keeping her from lunging across the table, the intimate touch setting her on fire, or at least the bits of her mind that weren’t tied up in rage. He’d never touched her there before, and the slow drag of his thumb against the sensitive skin on the side of her knee made her want him to move his hand upwards and inward.

The fantasy played out for just a moment until the words _nice_ widower punctured her daze and she tuned back in.

_Are you fucking kidding me? This is bullshit._

She didn’t plan it. She hadn’t made up her mind.

She just wanted her mother to _stop. talking._

“Malcolm and I are getting married.”

The words slipped out effortlessly, and she didn’t know what she was saying until they were out there like Pandora’s Box, unrecoverable.

Malcolm’s hand squeezed her knee tightly for just a moment before relaxing, and as much as she wanted to check his expression she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her mother’s stunned face, mouth opening and closing silently like a goldfish, looking for all the world like she’d walked into a wall.

“You… what?” Jackie asked faintly, her voice sounding loud and out of focus to Rose’s ear.

“We… we’re getting married. Three weekends from now. By a judge.” Despite the oddness of the words it felt right, _natural_ , and by the way Malcolm _wasn’t_ having a nervous breakdown, he at least somewhat agreed.

“You’re getting _married_?” her mum whispered, and she nodded, catching the movement of Malcolm’s head as he mimicked her.

“Are you pregnant?” her father asked neutrally, and Rose startled, having almost forgotten he was there, _anyone_ was there, with as intent as she’d been on Jackie.

Before she could answer, though, Malcolm spoke up, voice unusually rough. “Of course not.” They stared off for a beat, before Pete sighed and nodded. For the first time since she’d heard about the will Rose remembered one glaring fact – that Malcolm and her father had been friends and quasi-business partners for almost twice as long as Rose had worked for him, had known each other long before Rose and Clara met at uni.

_Oops. That could be awkward._

Her father turned his eyes on her, and not even his unusually serious expression was enough to distract her from the sudden heat of Malcolm’s hand taking her palm, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently, a warmth in her chest at his quiet show of support. “Is this what you want?”

It was, desperately, though not _how_. Among many other things, she’d imagined that, were something to ever happen with Malcolm, he would be as irrevocably in love with her as she was with him. _Be careful what you wish for_ , she thought sardonically. Unable to open her mouth, afraid if any words came out they’d be accompanied by tears, or worse her real feelings, she just nodded, gripping Malcolm’s hand tightly.

After several moments that felt like lifetimes, her father gave a sharp nod.

And then burst into a great big grin.

“That’s _wonderful_!” he crowed, pushing back from the table and coming around to kiss Rose’s cheek before shaking Malcolm’s hand. “Welcome to the family, son,” he joked, clasping Malcolm’s shoulder. “I’ll get the champagne.”

“I-”

He was back in a flash with an ice-cold bottle, and she wondered dimly why they’d had one chilled, watching with a strange sense of detachment as Pete opened the bottle, sending the cork flying. The _pop_ seemed to startle everyone else back to life, as Clara began to squeal from her place on Rose’s left, throwing her arms around her and hugging her tightly.

Rose slowly turned her head to face Malcolm to find him already watching her with an impossibly soft and tender expression, one that was almost enough to move her to tears with the gentle awe radiating from him.

_Really?_ he mouthed, arching an eyebrow, and she studied his face, committing this moment to memory.

Then, slowly, with a shy smile, warmth in her cheeks, she nodded.

* * *

Their afternoon cookout quickly devolved into an impromptu engagement party, though Malcolm didn’t miss Rose’s careful machinations to keep them from being split up.

Given it was her family he was content to let her do most of the storytelling, not wanting to contradict whatever she did- or more specifically _didn’t_ \- want them to know. Instead he watched her, using the cover of ‘adoring fiancé’ to study her, allowing his eyes feast to upon her as his heart ached to do.

“So, why now?” Pete asked, only able to get a word in edgewise after more than an hour. “Why the rush?”

Rose shrugged, leaning closer to Malcolm and peering up at him. “Well…”

Guessing she wanted him to jump in, he said, “Wallace’s death put some things into perspective, I think, about what really matters in life. I’d say that’s a large part of it.” He had to elbow Rose when she snorted at the bit he left unsaid. “It just… seems right, is all.”

“And when did you know?” Jackie asked, hauling Tony up onto her lap and cuddling him. “That something was there.”

Malcolm tensed, unsure of what to do. “Me?”

Half a dozen expectant faces stared at him, and he sighed. “Right- well…” When Rose didn’t jump in to save him he realized he was going to answer the question; _but how?_ If he lied, they would likely see through it, but if he told the truth… he was worried it might be _too_ convincing, and tip his hand. _Fuck._ “It was gradual,” he said, honestly enough, “but… I don’t know. One day I looked at her and saw something I hadn’t before.” His impromptu audience didn’t look satisfied, so he shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I think we were arguing over pizza toppings.”

Rose stiffened beside him, a peculiar expression on her face; almost as if she knew the evening he was talking about. “The night before the Charitable Earth Gala,” she murmured, proving that she did.

He had no idea what to do with that.

“Yes,” he said softly, before clearing his throat and turning back to their observers. “Anyway, that was… when I started seeing her a new light.”

Jackie nodded, mouth pursed, before turning back to her daughter. “So, have you gone looking at dresses yet?”

* * *

Eventually her mum had to put Tony down for a nap, allowing Rose to escape to the library for some much-needed silence and alone time.

She had only just flopped down onto the couch when the door creaked open, and she tensed; if she stayed still and quiet and the person didn’t actually enter the room she wouldn’t be seen, and she prayed they would move on.

“Rose?”

_I suppose he gets a pass._ “Yeah?” She struggled upright as he entered the room, carefully shutting the door behind him before taking the seat next to her. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He sighed, stretching his feet out on the coffee table and leaning back. “And to think Clara spent the entire ride over to pick up Danny lecturing _me_ about causing trouble.” He rolled his head to the side to face her, grinning. “Kid’s never gotten so lucky in his life.”

Rose considered the lingerie she’d helped Clara buy for Danny’s birthday the month before, and smirked. “Not sure that’s true.”

It was adorable, watching his expression cycle through the various emotions of confusion as they graduated to understanding and then horror. “I didn’t need to know that,” he said in disgust, making her giggle.

“You said it.”

He nudged her with his elbow, and she shifted on the cushions to avoid it, turning her body more towards his.

“So…”

“So,” she mimicked, pulling her legs up under her. “I guess it’s official.”

Malcolm nodded, expression turning serious. “Listen, I understand why you said it- _believe me_ , I do- but… is that what you really want? I hate to think of you putting your life on hold for this, no matter how good a cause.”

Rose shrugged one shoulder, toying with the corner of the afghan spread along the back of the couch. “Oh, come on,” she said quietly, “we both know it was always going to go this way, don’t pretend. And it’s not like I’ve got a serious boyfriend whose life will be affected by this. I want to do this, I _do_. What we have- I can’t lose it. Professionally,” she added in a hurry, realizing how close it came to a _confession_. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeated, his tone a bit too flat. “Are you-”

“ _Yes_.” She couldn’t help but smirk. “Just think how _badly_ this will piss off Missy.”

That got her a laugh. “She’ll be furious,” he said fondly, “which for me is reason enough. Now, when do you want to discuss this in detail?”

“Tomorrow?” Pulling her mobile out of her back pocket, she opened the calendar. “We’re both free at eleven- want to talk then?”

Malcolm nodded. “Let’s order takeaway and talk over lunch- I’d take you somewhere nice, but it’s not exactly a conversation we want overheard.”

“Chips?”

“Anything you want,” he laughed, before briefly touching her knee. “Really- anything. For… all of this. Name your price.”

Rose tilted her head, propping it up with an elbow on the back of the couch. “Hmmm… well, you mentioned there would be actual duties and work and stuff with this, right?”

He nodded.

“Then a raise- not an extravagant one but something reasonable- would be fitting.” She bit her lip, wondering if she should bring up her idea.

“What is it?”

“Clara said she and Danny are talking about getting a flat,” she said slowly, “something bigger and more centrally located than they have now. You mentioned spare rooms… it would certainly be convincing if we were living under the same roof, which would leave my flat empty- which happens to meet all of their needs.”

Malcolm grimaced at that. “Your logic is sound,” he allowed, “but I’m not sure how I feel about facilitating my daughter living with her boyfriend- even indirectly.”

“Probably about the same as she does about _this_.”

“Fair point.” He reluctantly grinned. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re not asking for much, though you certainly _could_.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I don’t need your money,” she reminded him, “and I’m getting plenty of benefits- a title, a raise, to live in a nice Townhouse, not losing my job…” _not losing you_ , she let go unsaid, but she wondered if he could hear it in her tone anyway. “Point is, you don’t need to bribe me, or feel guilty. It could all be a _lot_ worse.”

“It could.” He grinned. “I don’t know if you know but Jo was training a temp for about a week before you started. Nice bloke, smart enough, but I don’t think anyone would buy that.”

She had to laugh, trying to picture that. “I met him on my first day,” she snorted. “Didn’t really seem your type, to be honest.”

“He just didn’t have the legs.”

“Oh, you’re a _legs_ man!” Rose crowed, whacking his chest. “I should’ve _known_.” She thought she’d caught him staring a few times, and resolved to never wear trousers to work again unless absolutely necessary.

“What can I say, it works for me,” he protested, lips curling up. “Can’t be explained.”

Lifting up slightly she uncurled her legs in favor of draping them over his lap. “Mhmm, well, if you promise not to get _too_ pervy, you can give me a foot massage,” she said innocently, wriggling her toes. “These dogs are _barking_.”

“You’re barking.” He laid a palm over the tops of her feet, and she enjoyed the innate warmth as much as the spark of their skin meeting. “But I suppose I’m stuck with you now.”

“I suppose you are.”

And they shared bright smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter 9 will be available on Saturday


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They begin to hammer out details, and come to an agreement.
> 
> But, of course, two steps forward, one step back.
> 
> No one said this would be easy.

Rose accepted the takeaway containers with a bright smile and handful of bills, skirting around the security desk for the lift, letting out a breath when she made it inside without getting stopped by Mickey. She knew he knew her ‘news’, had barely managed to escape him and his questions that morning, and was relieved to be able to put off the inevitable conversation a little while longer.

Letting herself back into their office suite, she stopped at her desk long enough to grab her tablet and mobile before letting herself into Malcolm’s office.

“Food’s here.”

Malcolm shot up, immediately abandoning his computer in favor of taking the food from her. “Why didn’t you say something? I’d have gone down to fetch it,” he fussed, setting the pizza box on his coffee table and grabbing water bottles from his mini-fridge. “Sit, sit.”

“I was _fine_ ,” Rose rolled her eyes, stepping out of her heels before sinking down on the couch and separating two paper plates. “Honestly, don’t- don’t _do_ that.”

“Do what?” He settled next to her, opening the box and plating them a slice each. “What did I do?”

Biting her lip, she accepted the plate, holding it in the air with one hand as the other spread several napkins over the lap of her designer skirt. “Don’t…” She didn’t know how to say it. “Don’t act like anything’s changed,” she finally decided on. “Don’t go all formal and deferential on me, or any shit like that. This doesn’t change anything.”

Making a face, Malcolm sighed. “Fine, if you say so,” he twisted the lid off his bottle. “How’s your morning been so far?”

 _Really? Small talk?_ “Productive. Got lots of information about… everything. And before you ask, everything is good with the Gala, right on schedule.”

“What did you find?” He took a large bite of pizza, a stray string of cheese catching on his chin, and for a moment she fantasized about leaning forward and cleaning it with her tongue. _Down, girl._

“You have to give notice at your local register’s office at least 14 days prior to the ceremony. Since we’re in different parts of the city we have to give notice separately; I booked us appointments for first thing tomorrow morning, so we can take care of it on our way in. Before you can, though, we need a date and a location for the… the ceremony.” She nibbled on the point of the slice. “We need to document the location, as well as our individual addresses. You need your passport and birth certificate. Proof of your divorce.”

Malcolm snorted. “So, fairly simple then.”

Laughing, she stretched out her leg to prod his thigh with her toe. “It is, actually, once we settle on… specifics.”

“Well, I’ve made some tentative arrangements,” he said, opening up his own organizer. “Though I’d like to hear what you’ve been thinking first.”

 _That I want this to be real, that I want you to love me as I do you, that I want to spend my life with you._ “I’m not particularly fussy on details,” she shrugged one shoulder, watching her fingers pick at the crust of her slice. “Given everything, I think we should go simple, easy, and practical.”

“You may approve of my plan then,” he smiled wryly. “I was thinking the back garden at the Townhouse. My chef does catering on the side, the flower vendor for the Gala can pull something together as a favor, one of Clara’s coworkers DJs on the weekend… Ceremony in the garden, reception in the ballroom, and if you want, honeymoon up at the Estate in Scotland – they’ll be expecting us to honeymoon if they don’t know the truth, and that way you can see the property and meet the staff, and I can check in – haven’t been up there in _years_.”

 _Honeymoon._ Rose’s smile froze, two separate trains of thought racing through her mind. The first was Jackie would inevitably want details on the getaway – _intimate_ details. _I’ll either have to lie about shagging him, or tell the truth that we’re not – neither of those is particularly appealing._

The second track involved them, a private beach, open bar, and unending pleasure under a hot sun. _Mhmm._

“Rose?”

“Yeah?” she snapped back to attention, hoping he couldn’t see the warmth in her cheeks as she willed herself not to flick her eyes over his lap. _Never gonna happen, Rose Tyler, you need to accept that._ “Um, that sounds good. I’ve never been to Scotland.”

“Okay, then.” He took another large bite, watching her thoughtfully as he chewed. “All right?”

Rose nodded, finally digging into her own slice with relish. “Just thinking of everything there is to do.”

“We’ll get it done,” he said confidently. “We make a good team.”

“We do.”

_But we could be so much more._

* * *

“Thistle Foundation, this is Rose.”

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me?” Clara snapped down the line, and Rose stopped typing with a frown.

“What?”

Her friend sighed heavily. “Am I, or am I not, your best friend?”

“You are.”

“And are you, or are you not, getting married?”

“I am.” Despite the circumstances, a happy little thrill went through Rose at the thought. _He’ll have to kiss me, during the ceremony_ , she realized smugly. _Maybe it’ll open his eyes, and he’ll see what’s literally been in front of him all along._

“Well?!”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re looking for, and am very busy- what’s up?”

This time, Clara was quiet, almost… hurt? “You don’t have _anything_ to ask me?”

Brow furrowing, Rose wracked her brain for anything outstanding, but came up empty. “No?”

“Oh.” _Was that a sniffle?_ “Okay.”

“Clara-”

“I’ve got to go,” her friend cut her off, a definitely wavery tone to her voice. “Bye.”

And the line disconnected.

Pressing her lips firmly together to hide a smile, Rose went back to working on the Gala program, keeping one eye on the clock.

Ten minutes later the phone rang again, and she was already grinning as she answered. “Thistle-”

“Yes!” Clara screamed. “Yes, yes, _yes_!”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem particularly enthused at the idea,” Rose teased, leaning back in her chair. “I could always ask-”

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare!”

She had to laugh at that, could almost hear down the line her friend vibrating with excitement. “So, just to be clear, you _will_ be my maid of honor?” Glancing up, she caught Malcolm’s eye as he happened past, frowning when he stopped dead with an unsettling expression of horror.

“Of course!” Clara said, “How could I not be? Right, I’ll meet you at yours at half-six so we can start planning. I’ll bring the food. I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you then! I’m so excited!” And with another squeal, not waiting for a response, the line once again went dead.

“Something wrong?” Rose asked, keeping a wary eye on Malcolm as she hung up the receiver. “Changed your mind?”

He slowly shook his head. “No, it’s not that, I just- Well.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I suppose I’d always imagined that were I to remarry, well, that Clara would stand up for me. Be my best man, in a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.” Once he said it it seemed obvious; of course he’d want his daughter at his side. She’d been friends with Clara for just over a decade; he’d had her Clara’s entire life. “Right. I mean- Duh. Um, I can talk to her tonight, if you want- unask her, so you can.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he waved his hand in a would-be casual way, still frowning. “I’ll… find someone else.”

“I have other friends I can ask,” Rose pressed, “it’s fine. Really.”

Malcolm shook his head. “She’s your best friend,” he maintained, “and it’s only natural. Don’t worry about it.”

And he walked away, leaving Rose with worry gnawing at her gut.

_How are we supposed to make this work?_

* * *

Malcolm sank into his desk chair, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

_I don’t know what to do._

It hadn’t even occurred to him, to ask Clara to stand up for him- they’d been thick as thieves most of her life, especially after the divorce and move. _Two peas in a pod_ , Wallace used to laugh, and it had been fitting. Even as she’d grown up and moved out their relationship had remained mostly the same; while they were father and daughter first, she was also his best friend.

But she was also Rose’s, and of course she would stand up for her; it was obvious in hindsight.

His mobile buzzed, and he checked the screen to see an incoming call from _Pete Tyler_. _Shit._ “Tucker.”

“Hey, Malc, how’s it going?”

“Good, good,” he answered vaguely, sitting up straight. “How can I help you?”

“Listen-” _oh, fuck, that’s not good._ “Let’s have dinner, tonight- preferably at yours. I want to talk to you about this wedding.” _Shiiit._ “How’s seven?”

Malcolm swallowed, clicking the icon on his screen that would pull up his calendar. “Sure. Uh, will Jackie be joining us?”

“No, you and me. Man to man, father to father… that sort of thing.”

“Uh huh.” He sighed. “Sure, seven’s fine. I’ll… grill some steaks, we can talk.”

“See you then.”

The call disconnected, and he dropped the mobile to the desktop with a groan, cradling his head in his hands.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

When Wallace had passed, Malcolm had been at peace with it – the old man had lived a full life, full of charity and happiness, and it meant an end to his suffering. Now, though, seeing what his uncle had left behind for him…

_Is it even fucking worth it?_

* * *

By the time three o’clock came, Rose was more than ready for the day to be over. For the hopeful way she’d started the day, it had certainly ended on a sour note.

_Getting married is supposed to be a happy thing – and even though we’re not actually a couple, it’s still not terrible. I could do a lot worse. And, honestly, it’s not like either of us have found our soulmates – even if it’s not love, it can still be companionship. But… it also feels like this is more fragile than I first considered._

“Hey.”

Rose looked up only to find Malcolm looking as bad as she felt. “Hi.”

“That’s me off,” he gestured towards the lift with his thumb. “You might as well head out too. Get a fresh start tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She didn’t hesitate to log off her computer, pushing back from the desk. “Don’t forget to go to the Register’s Office tomorrow – I’ve already given Graham the details, but you’ll need to pull your documents together. I emailed you a list of exactly what you’ll need.”

“Thanks,” he smiled wanly. “Now, get your shit – I’ll walk you out.”

It was only a matter of seconds to be ready to go, and she was startled but pleased when Malcolm helped her into her coat.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t acknowledge it, just gently pulled her hair out from her collar. “Let’s go.”

Settling her purse in the crook of her elbow she walked with him, letting him play the gentlemen. _This is nice_ , she thought wistfully. _If only it were real_.

“I was thinking,” he said casually, “that after the- well, after, we might as well keep the same hours. I know you seem to prefer to be in before me, but- Obviously it wouldn’t make any sense for Graham to bring you in and then come back for me. If nothing else, I hope this makes your life a little easier – not having to deal with the Tube, and all.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. _Is that the best you think you have to offer?_

“Plus,” he coughed, as the doors opened and he let her out, “I… I don’t know about you, but it might be nice to have someone around. At the house, I mean. To not… be alone.”

She paused as they stepped out onto the pavement, waving hello to Graham before focusing on Malcolm, studying his expression. _Is he blushing?_ “That would be nice,” she agreed softly. “I do like living alone, mostly, but… it also gets lonely.”

“We can be lonely together,” he offered, quirking his lip, and she grinned.

“Works for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be up on Tuesday


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward dinners

**_ Monday _ **

With a grunt of frustration Malcolm shut off the radio, plunging the kitchen into silence. Pete was due any minute, and it was only now occurring to him that he should have mentioned the dinner to Rose, and found out what he was and wasn’t permitted to say; while Clara obviously knew the truth, Rose had given no indication of if she wanted her family to know.

_This can’t end well._

Draining his wine glass in one go he refilled it, before bracing himself against the countertop and bowing his head. Everything had gone spectacularly pear-shaped after the reading of Wallace’s will, and all he wanted was for his life to return to normal. Things were uncomfortable now, with Rose, and he didn’t know how they would find their way back- or if such a thing was even possible.

The doorbell rang just as the grandfather clock in the hall chimed off the start of the hour, and he had to give a reluctant grin at the man’s punctuality. Drying his hands he headed for the door, putting on a brave face before swinging it open.

“Pete! Good to see you, come on in,” he invited.

_Showtime._

* * *

Keeping one eye on the clock over the mantle Rose aggressively fluffed her throw pillows, straightening up her living area just to keep moving. In typical Clara fashion her friend was now officially thirty minutes late, and Rose’s poor nerves were suffering under the strain.

She’d thought, perhaps rather naïvely, that by making the choice of whether or not to move forward things would somewhat settle down, that her worries would evaporate with a plan in place. If anything they’d gotten worse, as she faced spending the next five years of her life married to a man who didn’t love her. Oh, Malcolm _cared_ , certainly, but he didn’t love her- not the way she loved him.

She was, she’d been disgruntled to realize, _in_ love with him.

“Oh, fuck you,” she scowled at the innocent pen that had rolled from her organizer onto the floor. “Seriously?”

The expected knock finally came, and slamming the pen back onto the open organizer in the crease to keep it from escaping again, she stalked towards the door.

“Took you long enough,” she snapped, swinging it open to find Clara looking equally annoyed.

“Oh fuck off,” her friend shot back, pushing past her to the kitchen, a large takeaway bag in hand. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there. Traffic’s a nightmare.”

Throwing the deadbolt Rose followed her, slightly chastened. “Sorry. Any trouble?”

Clara rolled her eyes, dumping her things on the countertop. “Not really. Just slow. Now, d’you want to eat and plan, or take a few minutes?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Rose watched her pull two large salads out of the bag, raising an eyebrow when nothing else appeared. “I thought you were bringing the food?”

“I did.” Clara opened the drawer to fetch two forks. “Water?”

“Where’s the rest of it?” Rose filled the two waiting glasses from her filtered pitcher, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t tell me you consider _that_ dinner.”

Kicking off her shoes, Clara settled onto her usual spot on the couch, salad balanced on one knee, tablet on the other. “You’re getting married in two weeks. There’s only so much you can do, but you might as well try to get down at least to the next size, though I suppose it depends on what style you want.”

“Style?” Rose joined her, peeling off the lid of the salad and frowning even more. “What’s this, then?”

“A salad, duh.”

She poked at it half-heartedly. “It’s just greens.”

“There’s carrots! Cucumber.”

“No dressing?”

“Balsamic vinaigrette.”

Rose crinkled her nose. “Am I being punished?”

Stretching out her leg Clara nudged her thigh with her toe. “No, but you want to look as good as possible on your wedding day, don’t you? Though picking your dress style may help with that. I made us some appointments for tomorrow at lunch so you can start trying things on, though I fear your options’ll be limited.”

“I’ve already got a dress,” she stabbed a forkful of lettuce. “Looks good as I am, if I say so myself.”

“What?”

Rose looked up to find Clara staring at her, fork halfway to her mouth, forgotten.

“What?”

“What d’you mean, you’ve already got a dress?” her friend repeated, lowering the fork. “When?”

She swallowed, took a sip of her water, and said, “We left the office early today, so I went to Harrod’s to just poke around. Third dress I tried looked good, was reasonably priced, so I got it.”

“You… you bought your wedding dress? Alone? From _Harrod’s_?”

“Yes.”

Clara’s face fell, eyes welling, and Rose sighed.

“I didn’t _mean_ to leave you out, I just went to look, but… I dunno, it just seemed right.” She hesitated. “D’you… want to see it?”

Slowly, her friend nodded. “And you in it, please. As Maid of Honor- thanks for the flowers by the way, they were gorgeous- it’s my right to have final say over your _wedding_ dress.”

“Sure,” Rose agreed easily, though she had no intention of changing the dress. “I’ll be right back.”

On her way past to her bedroom she paused, bending down to kiss the top of her friend’s head.

_How much drama can this wedding cause?_

* * *

Beer clutched tightly in one hand, Malcolm gave the steaks more attention than they needed as they sizzled on the stovetop in a frying pan. His intention had been to do them on the grill, but the downpour had effectively nixed that idea, leaving the two men in his kitchen in silence.

He’d known Pete Tyler for going on fifteen years now, been in his company a thousand times, and yet none had been so awkward and painful, not even their first conversation ( _not_ Malcolm’s strong suit). Since Pete had asked for this dinner Malcolm was content to let him start the conversation, though so far, that hadn’t happened past general small talk.

It wasn’t until they sat down to eat that Pete finally sighed and said, “Could you please not be so weird? I’m not here to threaten you or anything.”

“I know that,” Malcolm said defensively, though he wasn’t quite convinced. “I mean- Why _are_ you here?”

“Why are you marrying my daughter?” He took a large bite of steak, and groaned. “Bloody hell that’s excellent.”

“Thanks.”

Pete finished chewing, then raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Because… I asked and she said yes,” he said carefully, poking at the mashed potatoes regretfully; his appetite had vanished at the question. “That’s generally how it works, to my understanding.”

“That’s not exactly convincing,” Pete pointed out. “Or reassuring.”

“Reassuring?”

The other man sighed, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. “That this wedding is happening for the right reasons.”

 _Shit. How can he know?_ “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Honestly? Do you want to know what I think?”

Malcolm didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Of course.”

“I know you’re in love with my daughter.”

It took effort not to react to that. Pete was more perceptive than Malcolm gave him credit for, but given that he was engaged to Rose and she hadn’t shared the full story with her parents it shouldn’t be a surprise, and he should absolutely not be feeling defensive in anyway. “Yes,” was all he said, when it became clear the other man was waiting for a response, and he was horrified at the melancholy, wistful tone in his voice.

“I’ve been watching you. _Both_ of you. For a long time now. I see how you look at each other. To be perfectly frank I think I’ve seen this writing on the wall since I realized Rose had stopped looking for a real job. And yet, nothing has changed. You seem no different from six months ago, or two or five years ago, which can only mean one of two things – you’ve been involved with my daughter for a very long time without telling me, or nothing _has_ changed. My suspicion is the second, but neither explains why you’re getting married now, all of sudden, especially if she’s not pregnant. So help me understand.”

Sitting at his own kitchen table, untouched steak cooling on the plate in front of him, Malcolm had never felt more idiotic or… or transparent. _Has he really known all this time how I felt?_ For a fleeting moment he was certain his hours were numbered, that the man would want him dead for his feelings towards Rose, but then he realized that if Pete had known for _years_ , and never done or said anything to discourage the ‘relationship’ or separate them… _he couldn’t possibly approve, could he?_

“I see how happy you make my daughter,” Pete continued, unaware of the war ripping Malcolm apart inside, “and how happy she makes you. I’ve known you for fifteen years, seen you with countless women, and I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with her. And yet if you’re hiding a romantic relationship you both deserve fucking Oscars, because it’s impossible to tell. You’ve got the yearning looks down pat.”

Malcolm took a long pull off his beer, mind racing. It seemed they’d been caught out, and he didn’t know which would be worse – lying to Pete, or betraying Rose’s secret. And then he registered something Pete has said – or at least implied.

“Are you saying…” He swallowed, heart thumping painfully in his chest with something akin to hope. “Are you saying she… Rose feels…”

And Pete started to laugh.

* * *

Smoothing the dress over her thighs Rose examined her reflection, just as happy with her choice as she had been earlier that day in the Harrod’s dress department. While it wasn’t a traditional bridal gown, it was still elegant and beautiful and _right_.

She’d chosen a brocade sheath-style cocktail dress, in a beautiful shade of champagne with golden embroidery. It hugged every curve, though not quite skin-tight, and the square neckline helped keep it on the right side of decent. Wedge sandals in the same shade as the dress had convinced her it was fate, and she felt classy, elegant, and mature. Normally she would have preferred a stiletto, which might have gone with the outfit a bit better, but with the ceremony being outside in the garden, she didn’t want to have to worry about sinking into the grass.

The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself.

The other few dresses she had tried on had been nice enough, perhaps more her usual style, but she had suspected that standing next to Malcolm and his salt-and-pepper hair in them would make her look more like a child bride or a trophy wife than she was comfortable with.

“Right, I’m coming out,” she called, stepping carefully through her apartment back to where Clara was waiting impatiently on the couch.

“What do you think?” she asked uncertainly when her friend said nothing, merely stared at her with an open mouth, salad forgotten on the coffee table.

Slowly Clara stood, coming around the couch with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “You look _beautiful_ ,” she whispered, and Rose nearly sagged in relief.

“You really think so?”

A beaming smile spread across Clara’s face as she began to nod. “Absolutely stunning! Like a beautiful bride. Albeit a divorcee going to the courthouse, but still, lovely. Really. It’s perfect.”

Rose grinned happily, throwing her arms around her friend. “I’m so glad you think so. I hadn’t been meaning to buy, I just wanted to start getting ideas, but… it just called to me.”

“Well, I’m glad you picked up the phone,” Clara joked, pulling back and wiping at her eyes. “Wow. Okay, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, your mum may not be so easy to convince.”

The blood drained from Rose’s face as her stomach plummeted. “Oh, _shit_.”

* * *

“What’s so funny?” Malcolm asked defensively, when the other man continued to laugh. “Stop it!”

“Well, for one, I think you proved there’s more to this wedding than your relationship,” Pete sighed, still smiling as he calmed down. “And second, you’re so far bloody gone, mate.”

Malcolm huffed, unable to dispute either charge but not wanting to give the other man the satisfaction of admitting he was right. “It’s not funny.”

“It is, actually.” The man let out another chuckle. “And now I’m extremely curious as to not only your reasons for proposing to my daughter, but why she said yes if you don’t even know how the other feels. Also, Jacks owes me twenty quid, she didn’t think you felt that way.”

With that Malcolm gave up, groaning and letting his head _thunk_ forward onto the table.

“You have _no_ idea how fucked up this all is.”

And, against his better judgement, Malcolm told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 will be up on Saturday
> 
> Also, for anyone confused, Rose sent Clara a flower arrangement with a note asking her to be maid of honor. She received it between her first and second phone call in chapter 9.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gets kidnapped on a bachelorette party, the end result of which leaves Malcolm hot under the collar.
> 
> Note the rating; thoughts stray to the gutter here, but no action taken.
> 
> Yet 😘

Rose straightened with a groan, grabbing her wine glass and taking a large gulp. She’d spent most of the day alternating between packing and questioning her life choices, as she prepared to move. It wasn’t the most exciting way to spend a Saturday, her last as an unmarried woman (or, inevitably, a divorcée), but she had put it off for long enough. 

Tomorrow Malcolm, Mickey, Danny, and Pete would move out anything she wouldn’t need in her final week here; most of her clothing and some knickknacks would be going to Malcolm’s townhouse, while the rest returned to her parents’ house for storage. Clara and Danny had more than enough in the way of furniture and furnishings, and she’d decided to clear out everything to allow it to truly become their own space, instead of making them feel like guests in what was now, essentially, their own home.

What they would all do in five years was anyone’s guess; so many things could happen between now and then Rose refused to dignify it with any thought – except for when the questions haunted her in the middle of the night.

She took another large swig of wine, unable to bring herself to regret skipping dinner as warmth rushed through her.

A knock on the door made Rose frown, and she hesitated until a second, more forceful bang on the door convinced her to move towards it. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, open up,” Clara called.

Rose sighed, glancing between the door and her wine glass, finishing it off in one go before opening the door. “What?”

She realized her mistake too late, as she found her mother, Clara, and several other female friends smiling on the other side, dressed up for a night out.

“No,” Rose said firmly, then spotted the ‘Bride’ sash tucked in the crook of Clara’s elbow. “Oh, fuck _no_.”

Clara caught the door before it slammed in her face, wriggling her way inside. “Oh, fuck _yes_ ,” she shook her head, artificial curls bouncing. “C’mon, it’s your last weekend as a bachelorette, you should live it up!”

“I don’t want to, and I have a lot of packing to do,” Rose whispered, giving her friend a pleading look. “Don’t make me do this.”

“It’s tradition!” Clara tried and failed to match her volume, telling Rose that the partying had already begun. “It’ll be fun. We’ll go out, have a few drinks, maybe one last one-night stand?”

“I’ve never _had_ a one-night stand, and I don’t intend to start now. Besides, I’m getting married – to your _father_ – next week,” Rose hissed back, conscious that Clara was the only person in the proposed party to know the truth. “Stop it.”

“Rose,” her mother said firmly, eyes crossing slightly as she tried to focus, “stop being a wet blanket. We want to celebrate you finally getting married. This isn’t for you, it’s for us. Now, get tarted up and let’s _go_. You owe it to us.”

Rose sighed, not convinced but knowing she wasn’t going to win. Jackie had made everything about this so far a _Thing_ , whining over every choice Rose and Malcolm had made, first and foremost that she wasn’t being included in any of the decision-making. Malcolm had insisted on footing the bill, letting Rose have whatever she wanted, though she’d insisted they make their choices together. They’d decided the fairest thing would be leave everyone out of the planning, making all the decisions and arrangements themselves.

_I know I should just be grateful she’s still talking to me, but still…_

“Fine.” Scowling, she opened the door wide and stepped back. “C’mon in, I’ll just go get dressed.” Not waiting until they entered she stalked off towards her bedroom, cognizant that Clara trailed behind her. “What?”

Her friend was silent, settling herself on Rose’s bed as Rose opened her closet and started flipping through the dresses still hanging there. “You know, if you’ve changed your mind, Dad would understand,” Clara said quietly. “He wants you to be happy, and so do I.”

“I made my choice.” Rose clucked at the options in front of her; what twenty minutes ago she’d deemed too slutty for work were suddenly seeming perfectly tame. “Really, I’m good.”

“Dad says you’ve been in a shitty mood all week.”

_I’m marrying a man I love who doesn’t love me. I’m scared that I’ve wasted the last five years of my life waiting for someone who will never want me, and that I’m going double or nothing on something that could never be anything. I’m scared of missing my chance at real love, and happiness, and a family._

“I’m just stressed,” she sighed. “With moving, then the wedding and the Gala… There’s a lot going on right now.” Picking a dress at random she started undoing her jeans; after four years of living together at uni and more than a decade of friendship, she had no issue with changing in front of Clara.

“If you’re sure,” her friend said cautiously. “For the record, I think Dad’s really excited about having you in the townhouse. He’s been fussing over everything, insisting it has to be perfect for you. It’s cute.”

Rose smiled wistfully to herself, backing out of the closet and otherwise ignoring the comment. “Zip me up?”

Clara rolled off the bed, and by the sound of it, it was a less-than-graceful move. “Comin’.” A moment later she zipped her up, and Rose turned for inspection. “Is that what you want to wear?”

Rolling her eyes, Rose moved towards her bathroom. “Yes. Give me five more minutes.”

* * *

It was almost midnight when the first text came in.

_Never been so bored at a club. Am I getting old?!?!_

Malcolm stared down at his mobile in bafflement, double checking that the message had come from Rose.

 _I thought you were packing tonight?_ he sent back, before setting it back on the sofa next to him. The movie playing out on screen faded to the background as he waited for a response, worried- and somewhat concerned he was overreacting.

 _She can go out if she wants,_ he reminded himself firmly. _She doesn’t need me fussing over her._

To that end, he picked up the mobile again, hesitating a moment before sending another message.

_Forget my last message. Have a good time._

He hit send and immediately regretted it. _I don’t know how to do this._ A month ago if she’d texted him something like that they’d spent the next hour or so joking back and forth – but that was a month ago, and this was now, a week before their _wedding_.

 _Can I tell you a secret?_ was her response after an agonizing wait, and nothing like what he expected – he had, in fact, given up hope of any reply at all.

_Of course._

It took seemingly forever for her to answer, but he daren’t give up – if Rose Tyler wanted to confide in him, not even death itself could stop him from being there for her. _Dramatic, much?_

_I’m… actually really happy we’re going to be living together. Officially Clara’s my best friend, and she always will be, but… so are you. I’m looking forward to spending more time with you out of the office, hanging out. Watching a movie, dissecting the latest ep of Game of Thrones as it airs, cooking dinner together._

_I just think it’ll be nice._

Sitting on his couch, Malcolm stared at his mobile, in equal parts awed, confused, and heartbroken. Awed, because that was exactly how he felt, confused because how could someone like Rose, so caring and warm and sweet and funny and wonderful _want_ to spend more time with him, and heartbroken because… _she doesn’t love me._ That much was clear. Obviously she cared for him, maybe even loved him, but that didn’t mean she was _in_ love with him.

Eventually his brain rebooted enough to realize that was _not_ a message to leave unanswered, and hurriedly pecked out, _I wholeheartedly agree. Really looking forward to it._

He fell asleep waiting to hear back.

* * *

Malcolm knocked on the door again, harder this time, and checked his watch. Rose had strictly instructed him to be there at eight, and he’d been knocking off and on for several minutes – it was only a matter of time before her nosy neighbor rang the police, which was the last thing he needed or wanted.

 _Is she even here?_ he was starting to wonder; after not hearing back the previous night he was worried if it was just a hangover, or something more.

His mobile buzzed then, and he pulled it out to see a new message from Rose. Clicking it open, he was confused to just see the word _key_. _What?_ A moment later he understood, and found the spare key she’d given him years ago, just in case, buried deep in the bottom of his bag.

He’d never used it before.

Juggling the bag of baked goods and a tray of coffee he let himself in, dumping his backpack by the door and making his way through the flat. “Rose?” he called quietly, sidestepping the veritable maze of mostly-full boxes. “I brought coffee.”

A pitiful moan led him to the living room, where he leaned on the back of the couch and looked down to find a mess of blonde hair splayed out. She was face down in the pillows, half falling off the couch, and he had to fight back a laugh at the adorably pathetic vision she made. Out of habit his eyes flickered over her, down the back of her tight black dress, only to stop, breathless, at her bum.

Her _bare_ bum.

By the time his heart restarted he realized she was, in fact, wearing a scarlet thong, which was visible because the hem of her dress had ridden up at some point. His full senses returned then and he spun on his heel, stalking away and resisting the urge to adjust himself in suddenly uncomfortable trousers. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Once there he relinquished his death grip on the paper bag and carrier tray, setting breakfast carefully on the countertop. The more he tried not to think about what he’d just seen the clearer the image was; her soft skin, the delectable curves- _Stop perving on her,_ he told himself firmly, even as he wondered what other skimpy knickers she might have and- heaven help him- might even bring to the townhouse. _BEHAVE._

In an effort to distract himself he looked around the kitchen wildly, spotting a few gift bags down the other end of the island. Mostly out of desperation he stuck his hand in the bag, closing around something and pulling it out, staring down blankly at it, blood rushing in his ears – and other bits.

“Um…”

His head snapped up in horror to find Rose, now with her dress lying flat on her thighs _blimey could that be any shorter?_ standing in the doorway watching him with raised eyebrows.

“I can… this is not what it looks like,” he stammered, heart now racing in embarrassment. “Really.”

Rose licked her lips, giving him a faint smile as she ran her hand through her hair and padded towards him. “So you’re _not_ standing in my kitchen holding a massive dildo my mates bought me?” Her voice was raspier than normal, further evidence of her night of drinking, and he had to swallow twice before he could attempt an answer.

“Okay, maybe it is what it looks like.” Glancing down at it again, he frowned. “I dunno if I’d say it was _massive_.” Then, face flushing further, he gingerly dropped it back into the bag. “Sorry.”

She just hummed, reaching for one of the cups but hovering her hand just over it. “Mine?”

“Yeah.”

Lifting it to her mouth she drank greedily, and he watched her throat work as she practically inhaled the coffee. _For fuck’s sake, did you wake up eighteen? Pull your shit together_ he reminded himself firmly, pressing against the countertop to alleviate some of the pressure.

It didn’t work.

“Rough night?” he managed, inching down the island towards the as-yet untouched bag. “Brought you a bear claw.”

“Mhmm, thanks,” she accepted it, ripping off a big bite. “Yeah, you could say. I was gonna just stay in and pack but Clara and Mum and a few mates showed up and dragged me out for a hen night. Didn’t get in until two.”

He just nodded, entirely inappropriate thoughts swirling through his mind. “Erm, can I ask- why the…”

“Dildo?” she finished helpfully, dragging herself up onto a barstool. “That was Shireen’s gift. She thought it might come in handy… just in case.”

“Just in case what?” He knew the answer before he even finished asking, bristling. “I’ll have you know, I have no trouble in that department,” he said stiffly, thinking of his current predicament. “Believe me.”

Her smirk just grew, her eyes coming alive with a twinkle. “If you say so.”

“I do!”

They stared at each other for a long moment, her look teasing, his indignant, before the reality of the conversation settled around them.

“Uh…”

“I need to go clean the club off me,” Rose stood. “Thanks for the coffee. Give me ten minutes, then we can get started.”

“Okay.” He watched her go, studying the way her skirt clung to her hips, before turning a glare on the gift bag.

“That may never happen between us,” Malcolm told it quietly, checking to make sure she was out of earshot, “but if it does, she sure as fuck won’t need _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 will be available on Tuesday


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before the wedding - Malcolm's stag night, and Rose's first night home (alone) gets interrupted by an unwelcome visitor

“You don’t think he’s going to ask my permission, do you?”

Rose glanced over her shoulder towards the bedroom door, where Malcolm was slouching on the frame and running his fingers through his hair erratically. “What?” She slid another book into place on the shelf, admiring how nicely the room was coming together. It was her first night sleeping in the house as her new residence, but she’d spent most evenings that week setting everything up so that it wouldn’t feel so stark and new.

“My permission to propose,” he elaborated, stepping into the room and making a beeline for her full-length mirror. “He wouldn’t, right?”

Her eyes went from his agitated form to her still half-full box of books, and sighed. “I doubt it. Not in _front_ of Clara, and that’s a serious conversation - not one to be had in passing when she goes off to the loo.” Abandoning her project she joined him at the mirror, smacking his hands away and turning him towards her so she could run her fingers through his hair in a sad attempt to tame the curls that had reached _mad scientist_ level of unruly. “It’s the night before your wedding, your daughter and her boyfriend want to take you out to dinner. Don’t over-analyze it.” What she didn’t mention was that she was fairly certain Malcolm would not be given a chance to give permission – or reject it, which his daughter thought more likely.

“Well, good. I was _very_ clear about not wanting a stag night, or any similar sort of fuss,” he said adamantly, fidgeting in place. “None of it. Really.”

Rose just hummed non-committedly, well aware that he wouldn’t be given a choice or a chance to say no, already in on the evening’s plan. “It’ll be fine, whatever it is. Your daughter will be there, I doubt there’ll be strippers involved or the like.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t blink. “You know something I don’t.”

“I know many things you don’t. For instance, _I_ know you can't wrap your hand around your elbow and make your fingers meet.” He immediately straightened up, and Rose hid a smile as she pretended not to see him try it behind his back. “I also know you’re dressed like an aging rock star.”

“Oi! Aging? Bite your tongue, Rose Tyler.”

It was true, though; he was in boots and dark jeans, paired with a Beatles tee-shirt and a black sports coat. “You wear it well,” she soothed, before adopting a haughty tone. “And that’ll be _Viscountess Gallifrey_ this time tomorrow, good sir.”

“I do so humbly apologize, ma’am, and beg your pardon,” his tone lowered, and she had to fight back a shiver at the goosebumps it gave her. “I am, of course, your devoted servant.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to regain her composure and not think about how close they were to her bed and how far he might be persuaded to go to prove it. “As you should be. Now, your dinner date will be here any moment, are you finished primping?”

Malcolm pulled back, and she mourned the loss of his closeness; in his nerves he seemed to have gone slightly overboard on the aftershave, and it was doing delicious things to her senses. “Yeah. And, _hey_.”

The doorbell rang then, and with a sigh, he turned towards the door. “That’ll be them, then.”

Rose followed him, wanting to say hello to Danny and Clara and make sure Malcolm got out the door.

She was suddenly very eager to have the house to herself for a few hours.

* * *

Malcolm let Danny lead Clara into the restaurant, hanging back slightly in case he needed to do a runner. Rose was clearly in on whatever this was, and while he’d welcome a nice dinner, anything that came close to a party, let alone a traditional stag night, he wanted nothing to do with.

They were almost immediately led through the main dining area to the row of semicircular booths in the back, and to his surprise he was delighted to find several familiar faces waiting for them.

“Well, hello there,” he greeted them, less annoyed than he’d expected. “How’s it going?”

Three faces grinned back at him.

“Hi Malcolm!” Tony waved enthusiastically. “Look, I’m wearing a tie!”

“So you are, little dude. Looks good on you,” he approved, offering his fist to the boy, who enthusiastically bumped his own against it. “Pete, Graham, good of you to be here, I suppose. Rose get you all mixed up in this?”

He slid in next to Graham, as the group on the other side shuffled around so Clara could sit on Tony’s other side, smack dab in the middle of the booth.

“No more than she did you,” his chauffeur retorted with a smirk. “And you’re late – I’m starving.”

“There’s a surprise,” Malcolm laughed, relaxing into the comfortable booth and picking up his menu. “God help me if we get caught in traffic and he’s run out of food.”

“I take my meals very seriously!”

The conversation continued around him, but Malcolm took a moment to lean back and take it in. It was a somewhat ragtag group, not a typical stag night, but they were the people he was closest to in the world (excluding Rose), especially now that his uncle was gone.

_Alright, maybe this isn’t as horrible as I thought it might be…_

* * *

Wrapped only in her dressing gown Rose hummed as she made her way to the kitchen, stepping carefully in her fuzzy slippers on the old wooden stairs. After some good old-fashioned _self-care_ in the bath she was feeling good, venturing out in search of some nibbles.

In the freezer she found a container of her favorite double chocolate ice cream, scooping out a generous portion and covering it with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Catching sight of an old portrait on the wall of one of Malcolm’s ancestors, a severe older woman who seemed to be judging her, she stuck out her tongue. “I’m getting married tomorrow, he _definitely_ won’t care if I get fat,” she told it smugly, making her first spoonful oversized out of spite. “Take that.”

She was halfway back up the stairs when the doorbell rang, and she wavered. It wasn’t Clara, who was out with Malcolm for the dinner party stag night, and it wasn’t her Mum because she was out with friends, but who else could it be?

It rang again, followed by a sharp rap, and groaning, Rose realized she’d have to answer it. The person was starting to knock again when she swung the door open to reveal-

“Missy.”

Malcolm’s ex-wife looked her up and down slowly, lip curling up. “Well, don’t you look comfortable,” she drawled. “Made yourself right at home, haven’t you?”

“Working on it.” With a casualness she didn’t possess at the moment Rose leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking any move Missy might make to enter. “What brings you here?” she took another bite of ice cream, raising an eyebrow.

“I want to see my husband.”

Rose frowned at the haughty tone, straightening up slightly and now feeling silly in just her dressing gown. “Your _ex_ -husband isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?” She’d never outright challenged Missy before, but she was painfully conscious that in eighteen hours, Malcolm would be _her_ husband – at least in name. _I can’t let her go around calling him hers anymore._

The other woman’s lips curled up, but not even the most generous soul would call it a smile. “You know, my _husband_ always did like to think highly of himself. That he was better than everyone else, more altruistic. And yet here he is, fifty years old and marrying the secretary who’s half his age, just like all the other executives in a mid-life crisis. Honestly, I don’t see why he can’t just bend you over the desk and be done with it. Always has to be the hero, I suppose.”

Fighting down her anger and disgust, Rose’s mind raced for a half-decent retort. “Well, he _did_ say he couldn’t do any worse than his first wife,” she shot back. _Not great, but okay. Definitely true._ “And I’m the best _partner_ he’s ever had.” Also true, though the comment certainly hadn’t been in reference to anything remotely bed-related. _Unfortunately._ “If there’s no message, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Actually, there is- I didn’t receive my invitation to the _charming_ little ceremony you’ve put together.”

“No? I’m so sorry, it must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Next Saturday, at the Cutty Sark. Ten o’clock.” Rose had never in her life been so relieved that Malcolm could be extremely paranoid when it came to his ex-wife; leaning back she fumbled blindly for the drawer in the small end table just inside the door, pulling out a single copy of a wedding invitation with just those details on it. Passing it over to Missy, she shrugged. “Good thing we had a few extras.”

The other woman took it with pursed lips, examining it critically for a moment. “Very well. I _will_ be calling him tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you just stop by the office?” Rose offered. “I’ll book you in for an hour – how’s three?”

Still looking suspicious, Missy nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there.” And, without so much as a goodbye, she turned on her heel and swanned off into the night.

“You do that. Crazy bitch,” Rose muttered, shutting the door behind her and double checking the locks. Good mood effectively snuffed, she looked down at her bowl of half-melted ice cream and sighed.

“Now what?”

* * *

Hands shoved deep in his front pockets, Malcolm whistled as he strolled down the sidewalk. The ‘party’ had broken up once Tony started yawning, and while it was easily the earliest a stag night had ever ended in the history of them, it had felt right. It was a beautiful night as he walked the few blocks from the Underground to the townhouse, he had a nice buzz from expensive whisky, and for the first time in years, he had someone to come home to. Granted, their situation was more _roommate_ -y than he’d prefer, but his conversation with Pete after the engagement had given him hope that with time, it would shift to a more romantic tone.

He didn’t dare dream of anything more than that, it was too far beyond his wildest fantasies.

Not paying particularly too much attention to his surroundings, he realized far too late that someone was coming towards him from the opposite direction, and he automatically tensed before recognizing the figure. _I think I’d rather run into muggers_ , he groaned silently. “Missy.”

“Malcolm.”

One of the things that had always frustrated him was that she was _never_ surprised to see him. No matter how unlikely it would be for them to be in the same place at the same time, she never blinked, almost as if she _knew_.

He wouldn’t put it past her to have implanted a tracking device in him at some point, but had never found any evidence of it. It would, after all, be perfectly in character for her – no matter what her _character du jour_ was.

“What’re you doing in my neck of the woods?” They stopped only a few inches apart, closer than they had any right being, but that had always been their way, ever since they were children- it was as familiar as breathing, sharing a space with her.

It was why they’d ended up in bed together so many times after their divorce, nearly every time they’d seen each other up until a few years ago.

The thought of why he’d finally kicked the habit of her for good made him glance down the street towards the townhouse, concerned. “I hope you weren’t harassing Rose.”

“No, not at all. I came by to collect a new invitation to the wedding- mine was apparently lost in the mail, but she so conveniently had one. She said Tuesday, at St Margaret’s?”

“Saturday, Cutty Sark. _Do_ hope you can make it,” he didn’t hesitate. He knew every trick in her book, and while she occasionally got the best of him, he always won in the end. Thinking about his upcoming wedding, though, he realized that he was well and truly done playing her games. “Or not. I don’t honestly care.”

“Oh, I’ll be there,” Missy purred, running her fingers down his chest. “Just in case you… make a last-minute casting change.”

Sidestepping her, he just smiled tightly and started walking, more eager than ever now to get home. “Not going to happen. Goodbye.”

Ignoring her attempts behind him to get the last word, he lengthened his stride.

All he wanted was to go home.

To Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter 13 will be up on Saturday. Ish.


	13. The Wedding - Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose has second thoughts about the step she's about to take, while Malcolm is surprised by his daughter.

“Rose. Rose? Rose!”

“Hmm?” Rose looked up, blinking, at the sound of her name. She’d been engrossed in examining her fresh manicure, and by the exasperation in her mother’s voice, it wasn’t the first time she’d been called. “What?”

Scowl firmly in place, Jackie huffed. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re in space, and _not_ on Cloud 9. It’s your wedding day- why aren’t you happier?”

“I _am_ happy,” Rose forced a smile, conscious of the woman behind her doing her hair. “Everything’s lovely, it’s a gorgeous day. I’m _fine_.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes, and Rose calmly returned the gaze; she’d learned long ago how to deal with Jackie when she got like this, and refused to flinch. Eventually the other woman nodded, though she still didn’t look satisfied. “Fine. Now, I was thinking-”

* * *

Wrapping her dressing gown tighter around herself, Rose wandered down the stairs to the first floor. With the reception only a few hours away the floor was a bustle of activity, as the catering company’s waitstaff finished setting out tables and placing settings in anticipation of the dinner to come. Trying to keep out of the way she crept into the room, standing in the corner to observe the goings-on. One long table was set for thirty in an L shape, the longer section by the windows. A DJ booth was set up in the corner near her, with a fabricated dance floor set up to avoid scratching the original wood flooring.

Keeping to the wall she made her way closer to the table, stopping behind the chair designated for her after the ceremony. _When I sit there, it will be as Mrs. Malcolm Tucker_ , she thought. _Viscountess Gallifrey._

She felt nothing.

Even standing here, the morning of their wedding, looking at their reception space, it didn’t feel real, _tangible_.

Her heart hurt.

“Ma’am?”

Startled, she turned to find a nervous waiter next to her, a tray of teacups in hand, clearly setting them at the places. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and they did an awkward half-dance moving around each other.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the seemingly-loud sounds of the setup, she fled.

* * *

Trailing her fingers along the shelves Rose breathed deeply, letting the quiet air of the library soothe her nervous energy. It smelled of smoke from a wood-burning burning fire, fine whisky, old books – and Malcolm.

From her very first visit to the room, way back in her first year at uni, it had been one of her favorite spots on Earth. She’s spent countless hours in the library at her parents’ mansion, but it hadn’t been until she arrived here, in a room that had served that purpose for _literally_ hundreds of years, that it brought her the joy and comfort she’d always instinctively known she would find amongst books. Each one promised an adventure, travels through space and time, without having to leave a cosy chair.

Nothing changed; no telltale creak of the door, no footsteps on the carpet, nothing to inform her senses, but all the same, she knew suddenly that he was there, from the spark of electricity that raced across her skin.

“It’s bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony,” she murmured, not lifting her eyes from the copy of _Sherlock Holmes_ in front of her.

“I don’t believe in luck,” Malcolm murmured, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Besides, I’m reasonably certain that only applies to the dress, not the bride. After all, I saw Missy the morning of our wedding.”

Rose’s lips twitched, and she arched an eyebrow at the shelf. “You’re divorced.”

“Exactly. If the bad luck bit was true, we would’ve been married for much, _much_ longer than only five years.”

She laughed at that, reluctantly turning around to find him grinning just behind her, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “I suppose that’s fair. If you’re not careful, though, you’ll get a reputation as a five-year husband. What will the next Mrs. Tucker think?” The idea of him remarrying was enough to make her breath catch, her heart physically aching. But she kept her smile, not wanting to go there with him in front of her.

“Oh, there won’t be another Mrs. Tucker,” he said breezily, momentarily freezing before clearing his throat. “I mean, I wouldn’t- not again. Twice is enough for me. I doubt I would ever meet anyone who could change my mind.”

It was just wishful thinking, a projection of what she _wanted_ that to mean, but for a single heartbeat she heard a soft, wistful tone in his voice, one that said _I’m not letting you go, I love you, promise me forever_. “I suppose we’ll see,” she sighed. “Why’re you here, anyway?”

His brow furrowed, and she waited as he searched his memory. “Oh! Apparently you’re worrying everyone; Clara thought you might’ve done a runner.”

“I’m right here,” she shrugged, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, painfully conscious that under her dressing gown, she wore only a slip and lacy lingerie. (A girl could hope – she wanted to be prepared just in case the wedding night turned into a _wedding night_.) “Not even wearing my trainers.” She held a foot out for inspection, earning herself a chuckle when he saw her fluffy slippers.

“I see that. Can we…”

Rose let him guide her to the plush sofa in front of the fireplace, delicately curling her legs under her and adjusting the hem of her robe for decency, though it didn’t help when his eyes lingered on her bare thigh for a moment. “What’s up?”

Malcolm sighed, leaning back and running his hands over his face. “You don’t have to go through with this,” he said, bluntly but not unkindly. “I’m asking far too much of you, and would absolutely understand if you want to back out. You haven’t been yourself these last few weeks, and I can’t bear to be the cause of your unhappiness. Truly.”

“You’re not! You’re _not_.” The idea was so absurd that Rose couldn’t help but blurt it out, hurt but not entirely surprised that he’d drawn that conclusion; hadn’t Clara warned her he thought just that last weekend? “It’s just… this isn’t what I had pictured. Not that I’ve ever spent that much time planning my wedding, or my future, but…”

“I know.” He smiled wryly. “I never considered marrying again- I thought, after the divorce, that I would spend the rest of my life alone. And that… was okay.” His eyes softened, and he reached out, fingertips barely grazing over her knee before his hand settled firmly on the couch next to her, not quite touching. “I realize this isn’t ideal. I don’t want you to regret doing this. But… I promise you, I _am_ a good husband. We’ve always enjoyed each other’s company, and… we make each other laugh, and smile, and at the end of the day, that’s what makes a marriage work. It’s not necessarily about the- the _physical_. They say ‘marry your best friend’ for a reason.”

Rose bit her lip to keep from smirking. “And how’d that work out for you?”

“I got Clara, so, brilliant. Come on- it can’t be any worse than your current situation,” he pointed out. “Besides, blokes seem to love married women, maybe this is just what you need. So, what do you say?”

She gave into the laughter, settling her hand on his and running her thumb over his knuckles.

“I suppose I say… I do.”

* * *

Malcolm stared critically at the reflection in front of him, tugging on the hem of the waistcoat before smoothing it down. The clock he could just see out of the corner of his eye told him he had twenty more minutes until it was time to go down for the ceremony, and the longer he was left alone with his thoughts, the more jittery he became. It was almost as if by soothing Rose’s fears he’d absorbed then, making him doubt everything.

 _This is the right thing_ , he told himself once again, narrowing his eyes at the glass. _She agreed to it, and I believe her – Rose Tyler does nothing she doesn’t want to do. This will make both of our lives better-_ easier _\- and won’t change all that much. It’s a signature on the line and that’s it._

His romantic heart, usually kept buried deep inside him, locked away since before his divorce, continued to bleed all over his sleeve. _Why doesn’t she love me?_ It was a ridiculous question, of course, his rational mind knew that- the greater question would be why she would- _if_ she did- but at the end of the day a small boy with taped-up glasses who was a bit too much of an odd duck for the popular kids still lived in his chest, wishing people would like him while doing everything possible to keep them at arm’s length, or further. That was part of why he and Missy had gotten so deeply entrenched in each other – they’d spent most of their childhood each other’s only friend, and they’d mistaken that for love.

Sometimes he wished he could go back to his teenage self, awkward and gangly at fifteen and overly devoted to Missy, and tell him that what he felt wasn’t love, not _real_ love, not the kind the songs and poems and books and movies were about. That he’d know it when he found it, mid-forties and utterly enchanted with his assistant. But, of course, if he did that, if he saved himself the heartbreak of an ill-fated relationship and marriage with Missy, he wouldn’t have his daughter. His beautiful, precious, wonderful, awe-inspiring little girl, who pushed him to be better just by believing that he was.

And without her, he wouldn’t have met Rose.

“Dad?”

Startling violently he spun on his heel, nearly falling over in his surprise at being yanked so thoroughly from his thoughts. “Yes?”

“All right there?” Clara asked, unable to full mask her smirk as she watched him from the door. “You should be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine.” Brushing his hands down along his coat, he crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

“Nice.” She moved inside, rearranging her expression to appear more sympathetic, but unable to fool him – her eyes still sparkled. “Now, I need to talk to you, it’s serious.”

Sitting himself down on the bench at the end of his bed, he watched her arrange herself on the loveseat across from him. “I’m all ears.”

“So, I was talking to the reverend about the ceremony,” Clara started, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees. “And he said there’s this rule- it’s really stupid, and it really sucks.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed, confused. Despite her attempts at appearing severe and serious, her tells of lying gave her away- _what_ she was lying about he wasn’t quite sure, but the way she covered her elbow confirmed it. (Once of his great accomplishments as a father, in his own humble opinion, was convincing her as a little girl that when she lied, her elbow would turn green. Somehow, despite becoming a teacher, she’d never realized the truth; it was a foolproof way of fact-checking any story, which frustrated her to no end as a teenager, unable to tell how he always knew she was lying.)

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Okay, so, he said that the best man isn’t supposed to really know the bride, or at least, not be close to her. You know, for perspective, so he can properly advise the groom, that sort of thing.”

 _What?_ “I don’t follow,” he said honestly. Clearly she had a reason for this, but he couldn’t see the point – it made no sense. _Why not just say you would rather stand up for Rose?_ That, he could understand- he was Clara’s father, but after more than a decade of friendship, she and Rose were the sisters the other had never had. But why string him along like this, until ten minutes before the ceremony?

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I just… don’t know what to do.” Her eyes sparkled, bottom lip clamped firmly between her teeth, and when her gaze trailed behind him, he frowned, though it was the voice that made him turn to look himself.

“I may be able to help with that.”

Without thinking Malcolm rose to his feet, staring at the doorway with his mouth open wide, unable to believe his eyes.

“Brigadier?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter 13 will be up Tuesday


	14. The Wedding, Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding reception, featuring dancing, cake, champagne, and stories of long ago.

Breathing deeply, Rose let out a sigh of contentment. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, the luncheon had been wonderful, and now she was on the dancefloor, swaying in Malcolm’s arms. Her head nestled against his shoulder, body flush to his as they moved, was her idea of heaven.

It was why the Gala was her favorite night of the year, more than her birthday or Christmas, New Year’s, or any other bank holiday. The opportunity to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent, to have him hold her closer – they always danced together for several slow songs. The first was often spent whispering about how the event was going, the second was for sharing any juicy gossip, and the rest… She liked to think the rest were just because he wanted to hold her as much as she wanted to be in his arms. It was silly, bordering on deluded, but- she was in love.

And he wouldn’t hold her like this if he didn’t want to.

“You look beautiful,” Malcolm murmured out of the blue, grip tightening on her slightly as the song changed. Other couples joined the floor, but Rose paid them no attention, trusting him to keep them from crashing into others.

“Thank you.” Opening her eyes she glanced up at him, gaze tracing along the line of his jaw. It was only mid-afternoon but his five o’clock shadow was already strong, and it wasn’t just the champagne that wondered what that would feel like against her bare skin. “You look handsome yourself. I expected your tux, but this is actually better.”

He was dressed in a morning suit, including a waistcoat, looking very dapper and dashing. The accent colors even matched the light shade of blue and cream she’d chosen for their colors.

“A tux?” Malcolm sniffed, affecting a haughty tone. “During the day? What am I, a savage?”

Rose laughed, and his mock-disgusted expression melted into a grin.

“No, this was more appropriate. Besides, I’ll be wearing the tux next weekend, for the Gala. And if I do say so myself, I look particularly debonair in it, and I didn’t want to take the chance of upstaging the bride.”

“Oh, I get it,” she beamed up at him. “I’ll be much more dressed up for that as well.”

“As you should – you’re a proper Lady now, _Viscountess_.” His thumb began a gentle back and forth motion along her spine, and even though the thick material of her dress separated him from her skin, it was intoxicating.

“Noted,” was all she could manage, breathless, and his crystal blue eyes darkened a bit in response; they even flickered down to her mouth, and for one wild moment she thought (hoped, prayed) he was about to kiss her again. When he had, at the officiant’s direction, her knees had gone weak and she would’ve sunk to the ground if he hadn’t been holding her up. It had been dream-like, and all she wanted was for him to do it again, longer this time, deeper, and most importantly, because he _wanted_ to. She was equal parts pleased and disappointed that no one had yet clinked their glasses to make them kiss; while she would like the excuse, the idea hurt too much, of him doing it only because it was expected.

“Rose?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I tempt you to another slice of cake and glass of bubbly?”

She waited a beat before opening her eyes, hoping the disappointment wouldn’t slow. “Yeah, course.”

Malcolm led her to their seats; at some point between her visit that morning and the ceremony someone had decided to space out the tables along the wall so they wouldn’t have to go all the way around behind people, and Rose didn’t care whose idea it was- she was just grateful.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she teased him as they settled into their seats, grinning at him. “Too kind.”

Their glasses had been refilled while on the dance floor, but Malcolm gestured to their server to bring them cake before lifting his flute, Rose copying him half a second behind.

“I propose a toast,” her new husband said, sending a thrill through her. “To you. For being the wonderful, selfless human being you are. Your kind heart and generous spirit constantly amaze me. And… if I may, for a moment, be selfish, I am very much looking forward to spending more time with you for the foreseeable future.”

Rose smiled, cheeks turning pink. “Thank you. And to you, for… for being a good man, kind, trustworthy… I agreed to this because you are you. I wouldn’t have done this for… anyone else, basically.” She pretended to think about it for a moment. “ _Maybe_ Chris Hemsworth. Or that bloke that plays that detective on that show I like. But no one else.” Her smile faded, and she added softly, with a bit too much emotion in her voice, “Just you.”

She met his eye, and slowly, his expression changed, grew more thoughtful and curious and just a touch hopeful.

“Rose-”

* * *

He knew, rationally, that she didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It had been an emotionally charged day, the free-flowing champagne only complicating matters. But his treacherous heart refused to hear it, trying to beat its way out his chest and across the small space to hers, to be forever entwined as they had promised to do in their vows. He wanted that, a life with her for real, so terribly, and all of this was just a tease, an offer that would never pan out.

And then she looked at him that way, all doe eyes and earnest expression, like he was the only one in the world, the only person she could see, that they were alone in a roomful of people, and he dared to dream.

It occurred to him, then, with a bitter irony, a sucker punch to the gut, that this wedding was the final death knell for any potential relationship. That now, as her husband as well as her boss, the difference in their power balance was too great. He could never be certain that, were he to actually be brave enough to ask for what he wanted, and by some miracle she agreed to _more_ , that it was because it was what she wanted, and not because she was trying to please him- her entire life depended on him now, he was responsible for everything in her daily life, and he could never be _sure_.

This realization took his breath away, a visceral, physical ache in his chest. And, judging by the concern spreading over her face it was visible on his, and he glanced around desperately in an attempt to distract her.

“Brigadier!”

His old friend was standing at the edge of the dance floor talking to Clara and Danny, and by the pale expression on the young man’s face, giving him quite the talking-to, which Malcolm appreciated. Glancing up Alistair nodded, and a moment later, made his way towards him while Clara and Danny escaped to the dance floor.

“Hello, Malcolm,” Alistair rumbled, stopping on the other side of the table from them. “And Mrs. Tucker, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a fair bit about _you_ , over the years.”

 _Ah, shit_ , Malcolm thought, belatedly remembering that he had, in fact, mentioned Rose to him once or twice over the years. _Or during every bloody conversation._ “Rose, this is Brigadier General Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. We go way back. Brigadier, this is Rose Tyler.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Brigadier,” Rose said warmly. “I believe I’ve taken a few of your calls over the years. Malcolm hasn’t told me all that much about you, but what he has says quite a bit.”

“Is that so?” Alistair narrowed his eyes at Rose, as though sizing her up. “And what, precisely, does that say- does _he_ say?”

Malcolm held his breath, but Rose hardly blinked at the challenge.

“That you are one of the best men he’s ever known, and one of the few he would trust with Clara’s life, no questions asked. That the world could do with more men like you.” Then she grinned. “His actual words were ‘he’s an old friend, and would sometimes watch Clara for me when Wallace couldn’t’.”

Malcolm’s ears went red, but Rose and the Brigadier both burst into laughter, so he was willing to suffer a bit of embarrassment in favor of two of the most important people in his life bonding.

“Did he ever tell you how we met?” the Brig asked, still chuckling, as he came around to sit in the chair on Rose’s other side.

She shook her head, shooting Malcolm an appraising look. “ _No_ , he didn’t, an omission I hope you’re about to rectify, Sir.”

“Most certainly. And, please, call me Alistair. Now, it was-”

“You know, I don’t think _I_ ever got the story of why you’re here,” Malcolm cut in. He didn’t have serious expectations of being able to keep Rose from hearing the story, but he was inclined to keep them from getting too chummy. The Brig knew too many of his secrets for their friendship to be comfortable for him. Even a ten-minute delay seemed a wise move.

Both shot him knowing looks tinged with exasperation, saying they knew what he was doing. “Very well,” the Brig said, “if you must know right this moment. Clara called and asked me to come- begged, really. She was surprised to learn I’d never received an invitation, and that was the first I was hearing of this- you, remarrying.”

 _Fuck_. “I tried to get in touch, but was told you were very busy in Geneva,” Malcolm said stiffly. “I don’t think your assistant liked me very much- Dorothy? Doria?”

“Doris?”

“That’s it.”

The Brig smirked. “You’re right, she doesn’t. She’s my wife.”

Rose snorted, and Malcolm gave her a wounded look. “Don’t laugh, how was I supposed to know?”

“You’ve met her at least a dozen times.”

“Still.”

“All right, all right,” Rose interrupted, smirking. “You’ve gotten your answer. I was about to get a story- a wedding present, if you will. You wouldn’t deny a bride her wedding present, would you?”

Malcolm could deny her nothing on an average day; certainly not now that she had made such a sacrifice. “Go ahead.”

“So-”

“Maybe I should tell it.”

The Brigadier rolled his eyes. “If you insist. But I _will_ correct any falsities.”

Taking a long sip of his champagne and bite of cake, Malcolm nodded. “So, it’s our first weekend in London- divorce finalized on Tuesday, packed up the car on Wednesday, and now it’s Saturday. Having effectively never been to the city, I decide to take Clara to some of the historical tourist sites, as one does. We sign up for a tour. Not _twenty_ minutes into it do I realize that somewhere between the ticket gate and Traitor’s Gate- roughly 100 meters, mind you- this girl has vanished. _Gone_. I about lost my fucking mind. So I alert the security guard, they start a search party, you’d think someone had said ‘hey, where’d the crown jewels go?’ it was that level of seriousness, which I did appreciate.” Pausing for another sip, he appreciated how intently both were listening to the story, relishing in their anticipation.

“Everyone’s searching for her, calling her name, everything. And don’t I hear behind me, ‘Dad, there’s a girl missing with the same name as me, isn’t that weird? Can we help look for her?”

Rose burst into laughter, so loud half the guests turned to look, including Clara, who got one glance at the three of them and marched over, Danny trailing behind as her ears turned red.

“Oh please, please, _please_ tell me you didn’t tell her,” Clara begged, glaring at him. “Please.”

“This explains so much,” Rose gasped, holding her napkin to her mouth in a failed bid to repress her laughter. “Remember? You did exactly the same thing in Edinburgh, I even called Malcolm, and he said, I quote, ‘She’ll turn up. Don’t bother calling for her, she’ll think it’s a coincidence’. Now I know why!”

“It was the first time she did that, but not the last,” he confirmed, grinned at Rose’s good humor.

“Oh, I love it. Doesn’t explain you two meeting, though?”

The Brigadier beat him to the punch. “I joined the army at eighteen. When this occurred I was stationed at the Tower working security when this five year old comes wandering down stairs I’m fairly certain haven’t been used in five hundred years, absolutely off limits even to us. Well, I very slightly outranked my fellow guard, and decided to take her back up myself. My daughter’s a few years older, and done the same thing once or twice, so I understood the panic. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Wow.” Rose turned back to Malcolm, flashing him a grin. “That is a _great_ story. Much better than being uni roommates.”

“Hey, I like our story,” Clara protested, giving an exaggerated pout. “It’s good too.”

“Of course it is.” Rose leaned back in her chair, examining the Brig with a considering eye. “I bet you’ve got _lots_ of stories about these two back in the day.”

To Malcolm’s dismay but not surprise, a coy grin grew over the soldier’s face. “Why yes, indeed I do.”

“Alistair, I believe this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be available on Saturday


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday after the wedding - life continues as normal.
> 
> If normal includes confrontations with Missy and dating advice from Clara.

Malcolm let Rose lead the way into the office, holding the door for her. On the surface it was an ordinary Monday, but the still unfamiliar weight of the ring on his finger said it was anything but.

“I’ll be in my office,” he muttered as she got settled at her desk. “I’ve got that conference call in twenty minutes or so. You good?”

Rose nodded, glancing down briefly as her desk phone rang before smiling wryly back up at him. “Yep. Reconfirming with the vendors for Saturday, and writing thank you notes for the- the wedding presents. Fun times.”

“Let me know if I can help,” he offered, frowning when she barked a laugh.

“Um, no. Your handwriting’s atrocious- you should’ve been a doctor. I got this. But, thank you.” She gave him a sweet smile, bright eyes still shining with humor, and he wanted to kiss her – badly.

Clearing his throat he rocked back on his heels, pushing his bag further up his shoulder. “Well, all right then. Hop to. Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Spinning on his heel, he strode into his office with confidence, throwing himself into his desk chair only for his eyes to go straight to the back of Rose’s head. When he realized he was twirling his ring on his finger he dropped his hands, closing his eyes and sighing.

It was only the third full day, but he already knew - the next five years would be unbearable.

* * *

Sipping at his tea on his way back from the breakroom, Malcolm was annoyed to discover it wasn’t right. It was too hot and hadn’t steeped long enough, making it almost unbearable. And it wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the process; while he did have a chef come in three times a week to cook for him and leave leftovers, and a maid every other day to clean, he was otherwise self-sufficient. He certainly made his own cuppa each morning, and had no trouble with that, but didn’t understand how he could’ve gone so _wrong_.

Of course, he rarely made himself a cuppa in the office. He never had to; just as the idea would occur to him to make one, Rose would appear in his doorway carrying a steaming mug, perfectly made.

 _I don’t know why I didn’t just ask her for one_ , he grumbled to himself, stopping in the hallway as he debated going back and throwing out what he had. It was a lie, though; he knew exactly why. After his revelation on the dance floor, he had promised himself to not take advantage of her in any way. That, unfortunately, he’d decided included something as simple as making him a hot beverage.

The elevator dinged, then, and someone got off and slammed the door open. From where he’d stopped he was just around the corner from the entryway and Rose’s desk, able to hear without seeing or being seen.

“I want to see him. _Now_.”

He was dismayed, but not surprised, to recognize his ex-wife’s voice. Moving forward to rescue Rose, he paused at her calm reply.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said, _no_ ,” Rose repeated, and he didn’t need to see her face to know she had on what she called her _pleasant customer service_ smile. It was very distinct, with a tone to match, and he could tell both were out in full force. “He doesn’t want to see you, and quite frankly, neither do I. We’re very busy with the Gala this weekend. Please leave.”

He peeked around the corner, watching Missy’s hackles rise.

“Listen here, cupcake,” she snarled, and Malcolm’s jaw clenched. Without thinking, he moved forward, unintentionally hidden from Rose’s view by the way Missy was leaning over her. “I don’t _care_. I want to see him, and I want to see him now. You might have your claws in him, but it won’t last. Sooner or later he’ll get tired of your magical pussy and come home. He and I are _eternal_ , dingbat, inevitable. And you? Fleeting, like a common fruit fly. You think you have power? The upper hand? Malcolm is an _intellectual_ , a genius. Oh, I’m sure he likes your pretty little mouth, that it’s very talented, but he’s not one to let his cock do the thinking for long. I-”

Malcolm cleared his throat, loudly, making both women jump; Missy turned, inadvertently revealing Rose, who was still smiling but in a very strained way. _Oh, sweetheart_ , he spared her a thought, before focusing on his ex-wife, trying to control himself through his rage. He vividly remembered the last time he’d been this angry; his fury had been directed at her then, too, sharing their bed- _his_ bed- with their fucking babysitter, who’d been underage to boot.

“Malcolm, dear, hello,” Missy said, now all sugar and spice, if a bit flustered. “You won’t believe what-”

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

“Fuck. Off,” he enunciated clearly, taking measured steps to close the small, remaining gap between them. “Don’t even start, I heard every word. How dare you, come into my place of business and speak to my wife that way? I have tolerated your bullshit for many years for the sake of our daughter, but no more. I’ll have you banned from the building. You are no longer welcome in my presence. Now fuck off, before I have Rose call security.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning into her, letting Missy see the truth in his words. Once upon a time she’d known him better than anyone else on Earth, but those days were long gone – neither had ever been willing to admit it, though, but he was sure now.

“Malcolm,” she whispered, but he remained stony-faced.

“Rose.”

She didn’t hesitate to pick up the receiver, dialing the number for security.

Missy looked between them, lip trembling. “My love, please.”

The act was almost convincing. 

But it was still an act.

“Go.”

A storm brewed quickly in Missy’s eyes, and she straightened her spine, mask firmly in place. “Fine. I’ll go – for now.” She broke the gaze to glare at Rose. “This isn’t over,” she warned ominously, before stalking towards the lift in a dramatic fashion.

Malcolm didn’t move until the lift doors closed behind her, and based on the sigh of relief behind him, neither had Rose. Turning back to her, he smiled sympathetically. “All right?” Then he shook his head, snorting. “Course you’re not. I’m sorry. Don’t listen to a word she said, really.”

“I’m okay.” Her smile was a bit trepidatious, but genuine. “If anything, I’m mad at _you_.”

“Me? What did I do?!”

“I had an excellent smackdown comeback ready, but you swooped in before I could say it! It was devastating, and _very_ clever. _Dingbat_ , as if.”

They shared a reluctant, slow-growing grin, and Malcolm’s shoulders unhunched somewhat, now that the threat had passed. “Still, I am sorry about her. She’s just…” He searched for an adequate term, but came up empty, and shrugged. “Her. There’s no rhyme or reason. But I _was_ serious about banning her from the building.”

“She’s never liked me that much,” Rose put on a brave face. “I’m okay, really. Get back to work.”

He hesitated, but she shooed him away. “Sure?”

“Yes, but like I said, very busy. Go on.”

“All right.” He drifted towards his office door, pausing one last time to look back at her.

She caught him, though, and rolled her eyes. “ _Go_. Oh, and by the way, she was right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Red lips curled up in a smile that was borderline predatory. “I _do_ have a very talented mouth. For the record.”

And then she went back to her email as if nothing had been said.

He found it very difficult to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day.

* * *

“Sorry I’m late,” Rose panted, hurrying up to the table where Clara sat waiting for her. The restaurant was crowded, and she had to dodge and weave between the chair backs. “Traffic was awful.”

“You didn’t take the Tube?”

She all but fell into her seat, shaking her head. “Malcolm insisted Graham drive me. I gotta say, having a driver is _brilliant_. Traffic’s just a bitch.”

“Speaking of…” Clara drawled, leaning back in her chair, “was there a _thing_ with my mum today?”

“Oh.” Slowly closing her menu, Rose shot her friend a guilty smile. “Yes, but… she started it.” When Clara just raised an eyebrow, Rose sighed. “She showed up, wanted to see Malcolm. He didn’t want to see her, so… I told her no. She implied- well, outright accused, actually- that I had seduced him away from her and that when he gets tired of me, he’ll go back to her.”

Clara’s mouth fell open, and she spluttered. “I- You- What- Why- He- That’s- _She_ \- Are you _fuuuuucking_ kidding me?”

“Nope.” Rose shook her head. “She gave me this whole little speech about how they’re _eternal_ , and I’m a _fruit fly_. It was… unbelievable. And _then-_ ”

“What? Did my dad hear any of this?”

“Oh, that’s the _best_ part. She’s still going off on me, when he just _appears_ out of nowhere and tells her to fuck off. Well, eventually she does, telling me ‘this isn’t over’. What does that even mean?”

Clara whistled. “Wow. He really yelled at her?”

“Yeah. She was not thrilled.” Rose glanced down at her hands, which were folded neatly on top of the menu. The ring on her left hand made her feel guilty. “I guess she called you – I’m sorry if she was hurt.”

Her friend was silent for a long minute. “Hard to tell with her,” she finally said. “Sounds like she deserved it, at least sort of.”

Rose shrugged. “Harsh things were said on both sides.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I try to stay out of it. Now, I’m starving- shall we order?”

* * *

“Oh, _wow_ ,” Rose moaned, savoring the last bite. “Best chocolate cake in the city, hands down. Blimey.”

Clara snickered, sipping at her tea. “Sounds like you want to make love to that thing.” She’d had a few bites, but backed off when Rose practically devoured it.

“I _do_. This is better than sex, honestly.”

“Oh? Had any, lately?”

Rose froze, her own mug halfway to her lips. “What? No, you know that. Not since… the guy, with the, the thing,” she gestured towards her lip; her last partner had had an unfortunate goatee. And terrible dental hygiene. The ‘relationship’ hadn’t lasted long at all.

“I just thought… you _did_ get married on Friday…” Clara trailed off, looking at her meaningfully. “You can tell me, you know.”

She glanced around surreptitiously before leaning forward. “Clar, you know it’s not like that.”

“Oh, please. I’m not blind. I know you and Antonio desperately want to jump each other’s bones, and if I’m the reason you’re _not_ , well, don’t let me be. I’m fine with it. Really.”

“Antonio?”

Clara nodded. “Yes, Antonio, your new husband. That’s what I’m going to call him when it comes to the idea of you two… doing _things_ to each other. I can deal a lot better when I don’t think about who he is. So, Antonio.”

“Well, _Antonio_ and I are doing nothing. And I have no idea where you get the idea that we might want to. Or, well, that he might- I can’t talk about this with you! And even if I could, there’s _nothing to talk about_.”

“Oh, bull _shit_. Come on, I saw you dancing, at the wedding- _your_ wedding. You looked… Oh, Rose, really. I think you should make a move.”

“What? No! I can’t do that,” Rose laughed defensively. “C’mon. Don’t be absurd.”

Clara pursed her lips. “Fine. Then how _did_ you spend your wedding night?”

Rose blushed. “Well… technically, we _did_ spend the night together.” She laughed when Clara’s eyes went wide. “After everyone left we ordered in a pizza and watched a movie- Monty Python’s Holy Grail. Then we fell asleep, _together_ , on the couch. But nothing happened.”

What she didn’t say was that at some point she’d woken in the middle of the night to find them spooned together, Malcolm’s strong arm around her waist, anchoring him to her. And, for one wild moment, she had thought that something might happen when she shifted against him and felt… _something_ , maybe the remote, maybe not, but his deep, even breathing had quickly lulled her back to sleep.

When she woke again, she was alone.

“Well, I’m serious. You need to make a move. He wants you to, believe me, but he won’t.”

“You want me to seduce your- Antonio? Really?”

“Yes.” Clara leaned forward, arms crossed on the table, looking far too serious. “I want you to spend the next week watching him, but especially Saturday at the Gala. See how he looks at you, talks about you, the way he lights up when he sees you. Then I want you to take him home and fuck him silly – I _guarantee_ he wants it too.”

Rose licked her lips nervously, trying to follow. “Uh…”

“Don’t say anything,” her friend ordered, rising. “Just think about it.”

With a wriggle of her fingers Clara swanned off, leaving Rose with the bill – and a _lot_ to think about.

_I can’t do that, though. Can I?_


	16. The Gala (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gala Begins

“You know, I find it a little funny you’re doing more pampering in anticipation of tonight than you did before the wedding last week,” Clara noted out of nowhere.

Rose’s brow furrowed for only a moment, quickly relaxing before the makeup artist working on her could comment. “Are you joking? I’ve spent the last year of my life planning the Gala. This is a big deal. Of course I’ve got to be at my best.”

“More than your wedding?”

Keeping her eyes closed, Rose reached out an arm and swatted in Clara’s general direction. “ _Yes_. I’ve got 300 guests tonight, including the Mayor- Malcolm implied on the way home the Prime Minister might even show up. Last week was thirty people.” It was hard to believe she’d already been married for a week; eight days, technically, but who was counting? _Eight down, one thousand eight hundred eighteen to go._ The thought was nauseating.

“I’m sure it will all go perfectly, you’re a natural at all this hosting. Every year is better than the one before.”

“Gee, thanks, no pressure.”

“You’re done, ma’am,” the hairstylist murmured, touching her shoulder briefly; Rose opened her eyes to see an entirely different woman from the one who had sat down two hours earlier. Hair and makeup done, jewelry in place, nails freshly varnished, she felt like a million bucks. _How could anyone resist me looking like this?_

After a week of thinking about it, going back and forth a dozen times, she’d decided this was the night to take her shot – if everything went well, and the mood was right when they returned to the townhouse, Rose was going to do everything in her power to seduce Malcolm.

If she didn’t lose her nerve.

“Thank you, Moira,” she said belatedly, standing carefully and moving towards the privacy screen where one of Moira’s army of assistants waited to help her into her dress. Undoing her robe, Rose only felt mildly uncomfortable standing in just her knickers as the woman helped her into the dress, one forearm across her breasts for privacy as long as she could – given the dress’s back, a bra was out of the question.

Or rather, the _lack_ of back to the dress. Crimson red, it covered her entire front to compensate for being entirely backless. Clinging to her like a second skin, it was red lace over a nude-tone background, almost sheer in the right lighting. Starting at her shoulders and going straight across her clavicles, it went down to her wrists and ankles, leaving nary an inch of skin bare. A thin white belt at her hips gave her some definition. In contrast, the entirety of her back was uncovered, and she could already almost feel the warmth of Malcolm’s palm on her skin. It made her feel sexy and confident, and capable of seducing _anyone_ – but she had eyes for only one man.

“Wow,” Clara breathed when she stepped out, ready to go. “You look incredible, like you’re straight off a runway or red carpet.”

“Thanks, so do you,” Rose grinned, taking in her friend’s equally elegant gown. Hers was a blue and white floral pattern, with a crisp white bateau neckline that showed off her shoulders. Full sleeves buttoned at her wrist, and it had a split in the middle from the hemline to the knee, letting her knees peek out when she moved. “I love that shade of blue.”

“Thanks,” Clara shifted, turning her back to the mirror and glancing over her shoulder for inspection. “Remember that sapphire necklace Dad gave me for my thirtieth? I’ve been saving it just to wear tonight, and I wanted to make sure the dress went with it.”

“It does, you look lovely,” Rose promised. “And, I think we’re ready- just in time,” she said, as the clock struck six. “It’s a minor miracle.”

“Rose! Clara! Time to go!” Malcolm shouted from somewhere in the distance, likely the entryway, and the two women shared a knowing grin.

Gathering their accessories, and with profuse thanks to the _Glam Squad_ , as Malcolm called them, they hurried off to meet their carriage – they had a Ball to attend.

* * *

Rose let Clara go down the stairs first, waiting a good thirty seconds to let her friend have her chance to shine before following. In the deepest, darkest, still-sixteen corners of her heart, she wanted that _Hollywood_ moment, where she came down the stairs in a beautiful dress and the boy she liked was so moved by her appearance he confessed his undying love.

_A girl could dream._

She’d be willing to accept making Malcolm pause; she could hear him speaking, chattering away to Clara and Danny, who had also gotten ready at the townhouse.

Taking a deep breath she stepped carefully, making her way down and into the hallway. His back was to her, gesturing wildly as he spoke, and she caught Danny’s eye first. His gaze widened, and he sharply elbowed Malcolm, who turned to look.

And froze.

Eyes going wide his jaw dropped slightly, words drying up mid-sentence as if they’d never existed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just _looked_ at her, wonder and surprise in his eye.

It was everything she’d hoped for.

“Do I look okay?” she teased softly, walking up to him and touching his arm gently, seemingly sparking him back to life.

“You look… _spectacular_ ,” he murmured, voice dropping as if the words were only for her. “Incredible, unbelievable, goddess-like… Would you like me to go on?”

Rose smiled, blushing slightly. “Only if it’s genuine.”

He tentatively wrapped an arm around her waist, stepping closer into her personal space and lowering his voice further. “How about… sensational? Breathtaking? Stunning?”

“Well, if you say so,” she laughed softly, leaning into him. His cologne was strong, and it was doing delicious things to her insides. “Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself.” Unable to not touch him any longer she smoothed one finger along his bowtie, tweaking it. “Like James Bond.”

“Connery, I hope.”

“The accent certainly implies it.”

A cough from the doorway broke the spell, and Rose glanced over to find Clara and Danny waiting there, ready to leave. “Ready?” Clara’s amused expression faded, face flashing through several expressions before settling on _curious_. “Limo’s here.”

“Let’s go,” Malcolm agreed, a reluctant tone in his voice that Rose wished meant he’d rather sweep her into his arms and carry her off to bed. “The Gala awaits.” He kept his arm around Rose’s waist, guiding her out to the waiting limo that way, and her heart fluttered, unable to keep from hoping.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the only one with expectations of how the evening would end.

* * *

Clara and Danny climbed into the limo first, Rose and Malcolm waiting patiently as they maneuvered getting her inside.

“You do look wonderful,” Malcolm murmured, sliding his hand back to center and then up. His eyebrows ticked upward when he hit flesh, and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling as his eyebrows and hand rose in unison. “What-”

Letting her grin fly free, she took a step away and turned, so he could see the back. “What do you think?”

“Oh fuck _me_.”

She laughed, turning back to his gobsmacked expression. _Oh, I will, mate._ “Mhmm, tempting, but I’ve got this event to go to,” she teased, jerking one thumb in the direction of the limo, while smoothing down one of his lapels with the other hand. “Raincheck?”

“Oi!” came from the limo, ending the moment.

Malcolm’s slightly glassy expression faded into an annoyed eye roll at his daughter’s timing. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

She let him help her into the limo, all the while smirking to herself.

_Game, set, match._

* * *

As soon as they arrived at the Cutty Sark and made their way along the short red carpet inside, Malcolm grabbed the first drink he could from the passing butlers. Downing the champagne in one go, he watched as Rose headed across the room to the site’s event planner to check in.

He’d never seen so much of her back on display before, except in a bathing suit – and always surrounded by family. But this was a professional, formal event, a week after their wedding, and she was… heart-stopping. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, could still feel the soft, smooth skin beneath his palm. Never in his life, at least to his memory, had he ever been so attracted to someone, so easily set on fire. It had been a _long_ time since he’d been so distracted, having thrown his life into his work.

And, impossibly, it almost seemed as if Rose wanted him as well. ‘ _Tempting’? ‘Raincheck’? And what’s with the fuck-me dress?! Never mind her comment on Monday about her ‘talented mouth’!_ That alone had been responsible for half of his insomnia over the last week.

“Malcolm?”

Head jerking up as he realized he’d been staring at the floor lost in his thoughts, he barely kept back a groan. _Why does her father only appear when I’m thinking about her naked?_ It was like the man had a sixth sense. Distantly, he realized his own daughter would be laughing her ass off if she knew his thoughts. “Pete, Jackie, thank you for coming.”

“Everything looks lovely, Malcolm,” Jackie gushed, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Where’s my daughter?”

“Over there,” he pointed, spotting her standing with the Jacksons near the bar. “You look wonderful, Jackie.”

“Thank you, dear.” Her brow furrowed as she stared at her daughter. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“Sorry?”

“Her dress? There’s no back.” Narrowed blue eyes focused on him, and he gulped.

“I dunno, I had nothing to do with her dress,” he said, truthfully enough. “I only saw it for the first time getting in the limo.”

Jackie’s knowing gaze said she didn’t believe him, and Malcolm bit back a sigh. She still didn’t know about the _arrangement_ , and was probably thinking it was something to do with their relationship.

Sure enough- “We all know you’re newlyweds, she doesn’t need to advertise via her dress what’s happening after this is over,” Jackie huffed, making Pete choke on his whisky. “I’ll be having a word with her.”

“I think she looks lovely, dear, and she’s a grown- and married- woman. She can choose her own fashion,” Pete said patiently, catching Malcolm’s eye and jerking his head slightly. “Isn’t that Barbara what’s-her-name over there?”

“Oooh, it is, and isn’t that a horrible dress? I ought to go say hello.”

Malcolm slipped away while she was distracted, making his way over to Rose.

It would be an interesting night, to say the least.

* * *

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

Rose yelped, startled, and turned to face Clara. “What?”

Thankfully, her friend waited until the Jacksons were out of earshot to continue. “Da- _Antonio_. You’re going to take my advice, aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about,” Rose demurred, scanning the space and pinpointing Malcolm’s location – he was on the other side of the room, talking to guests. “Why?”

“I can tell – you’ve got that predatory look on your face every time you look at him. That, and that _dress_. Look at you! I didn’t see the back earlier, but… holy _fuck_ , Rose, if that doesn’t scream ‘seductress’ I dunno what does!”

Rose blushed, but didn’t flinch. “Good. I don’t want him to have any question about if it’s a result of too much champagne – if it happens, I mean. It may not.”

“You’re afraid,” Clara understood, nodding. “You’re worried about taking the chance.”

“What if he rejects me?” She dropped her voice, stepping closer, worried about being overheard. She double checked that Malcolm hadn’t moved; she didn’t want him sneaking up on them in the midst of such a conversation. “We’re going to be living and working together for the next five years… That’s an awfully long time to spend in close proximity with someone who doesn’t want you the way you do them, and has turned you down. If I did. Not saying I do.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Stop being coy, at least with me – I know that you do. And, trust me, he does too – I _promise_.”

“Even if that’s true, that doesn’t mean he’d say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Rose gave her an exasperated glance. “He’s a friend of my father’s, I’m a friend of _yours_. If it didn’t work… the consequences are…” She drifted off, trying to picture it. “It would ruin everything. I can’t do this, it’s not worth the risk.”

“What? No! I mean, yes! You can! You _have_ to. I can’t sit around any longer and watch you make goo-goo eyes at each other,” Clara said firmly, grabbing Rose’s elbow. “Don’t overthink it, just _feel_. Look, if nothing else, maybe you can Stockholm-Syndrome him into loving you? Though I’m pretty sure he’s… pretty much there.”

She was too upset at how many ways it could go wrong to bear _that_ a second’s thought. “I have to go play hostess. Um… thanks.”

Lower lip trembling she walked away, ignoring Clara’s hissed calling of her name behind her.

_What on Earth made me think this could actually work?_


	17. The Gala, 2/3

The program portion of the evening passed in a haze, Rose barely listening to the speeches or paying attention to the silent auction – over the years she had developed a solid team to run the day-of items, leaving her free to enjoy the event. Normally that was a good thing, but she needed something- anything- to take her mind off her worries. Too many things could go wrong, if she made a move and he rejected her.

“Rose,” Malcolm murmured, puncturing her bubble. “Program’s over – shall we open the dancing portion of the evening?”

It was tradition at that point, so she nodded, watching as he stood and offered her his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet, and they stepped out onto the floor. Taking their positions in the center of the floor, waiting for the music to start, it occurred to Rose for the first time to ask, “Do you know how to waltz because of the Estate?”

“Basically.” The music started, and Malcolm began to effortlessly lead her around the dance floor. “I spent a few summers out with Wallace as a teenager- most of them, actually, come to think of it- and he taught me a lot about the land, and the traditions… We lived in Glasgow, as you know, just a normal family otherwise, modern. Wally taught me to be proud of my Scottish heritage, what it _meant_.”

“That’s lovely,” she murmured, looking up at him. When he kept staring over her head, avoiding her gaze, she frowned. “What? What’s wrong?”

He sighed, holding her a bit tighter. “I suppose you ought to know… I don’t want you getting blindsided. Those summers I went out to the countryside…”

It took a moment for her to understand. “Missy went with you.”

Malcolm smiled wryly. “Yeah. We spent a lot of time wandering the fields, fooling around outside… Not just- I mean, yeah, in _that_ way but also… And, uh, that’s where Clara was… you know.”

“Oh.” Unreasonable jealousy tore through her chest, but she forcefully pushed it aside to focus on the humor of it. “That might explain a lot about Clara's dating habits at uni.” She smirked up at him, watching his expression change from confusion to horror.

“That’s not something a father needs to know!”

Rose snickered, relaxing against him slightly. “I appreciate you telling me- those things sometimes having a way of coming up.”

“I want you to feel comfortable there, reasonably at home since we won’t be there much, and… no secrets.”

“Thank you.” She considered telling him _her_ secret, but ultimately decided against it – it was too nice swaying in his arms, and a not-small part of her wondered if it would be better to live with the possibility, of never knowing, versus taking a chance and failing.

_You’re with him here and now. Enjoy the moment._

* * *

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Rose turned, grinning at seeing who had addressed her. “Hey, Dad, looking good.”

Pete joined her at the bar, as they waited for the bartender to reach them. “You look wonderful,” he smiled wistfully. “Feels like it wasn’t that long ago you were playing dress up and pretty princess. Now here you are, a married woman hosting Galas.”

“Dad…”

“Time flies,” he shrugged one shoulder, cupping her cheek. “You’ll see, when the time comes.” His hand dropped. “Don’t mind me, champers makes me maudlin, your mother says.”

“Mhmm. She _also_ says ‘red is for whores’. Honestly, nothing makes her happy sometimes.”

“You do, love, you know that. She’s just got a funny way of showing it, sometimes.”

They shared a knowing grin, and Rose rolled her eyes, laughing.

“That she does.”

The bartender stopped and took their orders, and when Rose glanced at her father again, he was watching her with a pensive frown.

“What?”

“How are you doing?”

Rose’s brows furrowed. “Fine, why?”

“Just… with everything. The marriage.”

“Dad-” And then she understood. “He told you.”

Pete made a noncommittal noise. “He might have said something. Don’t worry, I haven’t told your mother and I _won’t_. What is or isn’t happening… that’s between the two of you.” Their drinks arrived then, and he escorted her over to an empty table. “D’you want to talk about it?”

“I love him.” The words escaped of their own volition, her eyes flying open wide in horror. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I know you do,” Pete chuckled. “We _all_ do. The only ones who don’t are you – and Malcolm.”

Rose turned in her seat, eyes searching him out. He was still on the dance floor, this time with Clara, and she smiled as their laughter and smiles brightened the room. For many reasons their relationship reminded her so much of her own with her father, and she was fiercely glad to have him – he’d almost died in a car accident when she was a baby, and she didn’t know how her life might have gone if he’d passed. _Doesn’t bear thinking about._

“I do love him,” she said softly, “but he doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know?”

She scoffed. “Because he’s never said nor done anything to indicate that he does. There’s no _evidence_.”

“Have _you_ ever given _him_ any? Maybe you’re both being chicken.”

Rose bit her lip, still watching the duo on the dance floor. It was just crazy enough an idea to possibly be true, and her father had never steered her wrong before. “Maybe.”

Malcolm looked away from Clara then, eyes scanning the room as he twirled her, a wide smile spreading across his face when he spotted her. She waved, flashing him a grin, and he nodded in response before returning his attention to his daughter.

“Thanks, Dad,” Rose refocused on the seat next to her, only to find it empty – he’d moved back to their table, trying to tempt Jackie away from her cake for a spin. Watching as her mother relented, and their happy expressions as they started to dance, her heart felt a little lighter.

_Anything is possible._

* * *

They were dancing together again, more casually now as the evening grew later and the songs more current, and Rose was laughing at Malcolm’s Dad-dancing when he stopped dead, storm clouds gathering in his eyes as he let out an impressive string of profanity.

“What?” Straightening Rose turned, and saw what he had. “Oh, _fuck_.” Though simpler, it was said with as much passion as his mini-tirade, and as one they started towards their table as fast as they could without making a scene.

“Oi!” Malcolm snarled as soon as they were close, stalking right up to where Missy stood next to Jackie, so close his nose was almost brushing his ex-wife’s. “What are you doing here?”

Missy stood tall, still barely clearing his chin even in her heeled boots. “You invited me,” she said evenly, waving the invitation Rose had given her the week before when she’d turned up at the townhouse. “Sorry I’m late.”

It was hard to believe only a few minutes ago they’d been smiling and laughing as they danced; Malcolm’s face was now incandescent with rage, his right hand squeezing an absent stress ball. Then Rose looked at her mother, and a knot formed in her gut.

“Mum?”

Jackie turned to her slowly, shock morphing to anger. “Tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded. “Tell me you didn’t sell yourself to him.”

“What? No. What? _Mum-_ ”

“Mum!” Clara ran up then, wide eyes darting between her parents. “What’re you doing here?”

“Rose, did you marry him for _money_?”

Jackie’s question was almost drowned out by Missy snarling, “I want what’s mine.”

“Missy-” Malcolm started, patience hanging by a thread, but she spoke over him.

“That title was supposed to be _mine_. Who wasted their summers out in that hellhole? Who gave up _everything_? We had a _deal_ , Malcolm Tucker, and you got to keep what _you_ wanted.” Missy’s pointed glance at her own daughter made Rose’s blood run cold, but thankfully the implication went over Clara’s head.

“Mum, you’re not making any sense. Are you feeling alright?” she spoke to her like she was one of her students, in that soothing voice Clara used when trying to calm someone.

Missy stood her ground, holding Malcolm’s eye. “You owe me. I could destroy you, and I _will_ , if you don’t make me whole.”

They were starting to attract attention, but Rose didn’t dare say anything, just gave an awkward wave and smile as the few guests that were looking in their direction.

“Missy,” Malcolm sighed, “there is nothing on Earth that could fill the _hole_ inside your chest. I certainly was never enough, and neither was anything I could have offered you. I don’t know how you think a minor title that’s more technicality than anything could improve your life. All you’ve ever wanted was to be free, so fly away, little birdie, and never come back.”

“ _Malcolm-_ ”

“You’ve spent our entire lives taking advantage of me, and I let you even when I should know better- _do_ know better. You want nothing to do with your daughter and I want nothing to do with _you_. I meant what I said on Monday. Now fuck the fuck off.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

He just shook his head. “I’d say I’ve been _more_ than reasonable over the years. And besides, all of this was for nothing- you think Wallace would let you within a mile of everything he’s ever worked for? If- not that this would ever happen- _if_ we reunited, that would disqualify me from the Estate per his will. So all of _this_ has been a monumental waste of time and energy, and ruining a spectacular party. Now leave, or I’ll have security escort you out.”

Missy’s jaw tightened. “I love you.”

“And I actually believe that you do, at least as far as you’re capable of. It changes nothing. Go.”

She turned to her daughter. “My love-”

“Go,” Clara cut her off, arms folded tightly across her chest, lower lip wobbling. “Just… _go_. Please.”

After a tense moment, Missy nodded. Head held high she spun on her heel and stalked away, the whole group watching in silence until she disappeared through the doors.

Jackie broke the silence, turning to Rose. “ _Did_ you marry him for money?”

“Oh, Mum,” Rose groaned, closing her eyes briefly. “Of course not.”

“Wait,” Clara said, brow furrowing. “What title?”

Malcolm threw his hands in the air and sighed heavily. “Fine, fine, we’ll tell you everything. Sit.”

So, they did.

* * *

“Tonight was a disaster,” Rose groaned, nuzzling her head deeper into Malcolm’s shoulder as they swayed. “I can’t believe that happened – I’m just so glad it was late enough people had either left, or were drunk enough to not really notice or care.”

“I’m sorry,” he kissed her forehead, “I should’ve done that long ago, but… old habits die hard. She’s Lucy, I’m Charlie Brown, and the idea of _us_ is the bloody rugby ball. American football. Whatever. I don’t even _want_ the ball anymore, but… I see it, I _need_ to try to kick it. But I’m done. Truly.”

Rose just nodded.

Malcolm eased her back enough to see her face, and she blinked up at him. “I’m serious. She’s… not the one I want.” He brushed a loose tendril away from her face. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She waited for him to lean down and kiss her, but he just pulled her closer again, and they resumed swaying. _Maybe not._ Once again, her naïve and yearning heart had her hearing things he wasn’t saying.

His arms shifted around her, losing their somewhat stiff and formal hold in favor of just wrapping around her.

She wondered what they looked like to everyone else.

“Is Clara staying with us tonight?”

“No,” Rose sighed, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. As always, it sent a thrill through her, muted by her sad longing. “They’re going back to my- their flat from here.”

“So, just us, then.”

“Just us.”

Malcolm hummed, a not-unpleasant weight settling on her head; after a moment, she realized it was his chin. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I like that. _Just us._ ”

She did too.


	18. The Gala, 3/3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seduction of (by) Malcolm Tucker by (of) Rose Tyler

The limo ride back to the townhouse was quiet; with Clara and Danny going home directly from the event it was just the two of them. It was only a twenty-minute ride, but Rose still kicked off her heels to give her feet a break before Malcolm was even fully in the car, so that by the time he was settled she could scoot right into his side and relax.

“Hello,” he murmured, hesitating before putting his arm around her.

“Hi,” she sighed in return, resting her head on his shoulder. After a minute, she laid her arm along the length of his thigh, ostensibly as the only comfortable place for it, squished between them.

He didn’t object.

Watching out the window as London passed by, Rose tried to control her nerves and mentally rehearse how this would go. Ideally he’d try something himself and save her the trouble, but somehow, she didn’t think so. That wouldn’t be like him, to take charge – not with her. It would be much more his style to let her come to him, and she was praying that was the case here.

She didn’t know what she would do if he turned her down. _I don’t want to go back and live with my parents. Maybe Clara will let me stay with them – it_ is _my flat._ Either way, it would be humiliating.

A tentative brush against her knee made her look down to find Malcolm’s hand awkwardly hovering over it, as if debating whether or not to set it down. Checking his expression, she found he was firmly staring out the window, a bit too intensely to be natural. Licking her lips, hope flickering inside her, she used her free hand to gently press his down onto her knee before removing her own quickly. His remained still for long moments, before the thumb began to gently rub back and forth, much as it had moments before she’d announced their ‘engagement’. _Was that already a month ago?_ It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

Taking a deep breath, she moved the hand on his knee until it bumped his on hers, slowly encouraging it to flip. Once it did, she laced their fingers together, but loosely, so he could pull away if he so wanted; instead, he squeezed her hand.

 _This might actually happen,_ she realized with a jolt, equal parts panic and anticipation racing through her. It would be the culmination of five years’ worth of fantasies and daydreams, of hoping, wishing, _wanting_ , and now that it was here (maybe), standing on the precipice, she saw that if she dared, if she _jumped_ , it would be an awfully long way to fall if he didn’t catch her.

 _No_ , she told herself firmly, as her thoughts started to spiral. _This is no time to chicken out. You have to see this through._

“Rose?”

“Yes!” She startled, gaze snapping up to meet his amused and somewhat curious look. “Sorry, what?”

“We’re here- home.”

 _Home_. “Right.”

She put her shoes back on while he got out, before sliding over to the door and making sure she had everything. He held out a hand to help her out, and she took it, breathing deeply.

_Showtime._

* * *

Anticipation tingled on Malcolm’s skin like electricity, building up to a steady hum. Change was in the air, and if he was reading the signs right, his wildest fantasy might soon be coming true.

While he had been firm in his resolve of not allowing anything to happen between them, in the end that had only lasted a handful of hours, right up until he had woken up in the middle of the night on the sofa, spooning Rose. She’d been pressed tight against him, and there had been no way to hide his physical reaction to her closeness. His heart had almost stopped when she’d awoken, and he’d barely been able to maintain a convincing level of unconsciousness as she’d rolled her hips back into him once, twice, three times. And he knew for sure that she was awake, was conscious of her actions and his _reaction_ , because she’d whispered his name.

The fact that she hadn’t frozen, or tried to get away, or for that matter run screaming, had instead chosen to press _closer_ , gave him hope.

He was tired of denying himself happiness, tired of punishing himself for a failed marriage the one who ruined it felt no guilt over. If Rose wanted him, well…

Almost on autopilot he led her into the house, suddenly nervous about what would happen next. Would she make a move? Did she expect him to?

“Nightcap?” he offered, once the door was locked behind them. “Or do you want to go to bed? I mean- are you tired?”

“I could go for a drink,” she agreed, lips twitching upwards. “Sure.”

Moving his hand from it’s relatively-safe place on her fabric-clad hip he took a chance, finding the smooth, warm skin of her bare back and guiding her that way into the library. Leaving her to settle where she wanted, Malcolm headed for the drinks cart, pouring them each two fingers of scotch. Over the past week it had become their routine to end the evening with a glass in here.

He didn’t want the evening to end here.

Turning, a glass in each hand, he found her sitting just right of center on the sofa, looking perfectly elegant and relaxed, as if she spent every night in an evening gown. “My lady,” he offered her one, which she accepted with a grin as he sank down next to her, side by side, flush against each other from knee to hip.

“Why thank you, my lord,” she countered, in what had become a running joke between them. “Too kind.”

They clinked glasses, taking a small sip.

“Tonight was perfect,” he told her seriously. “You make pulling this together look effortless, but I know how hard you work on it all year round. Brava.” He lifted his glass slightly in a little toast. Grinning, cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink, Rose ducked her head.

“Thank you. It did go well, didn’t it? And we raised a fuck-ton of money, too. But this wouldn’t happen without you, and Wallace, and the Estate, so… here’s to you too,” she toasted back, pausing before letting their glasses touch. “Hang on, but the _reason_ there will continue to be this Gala is because of me,” she teased, tongue peeking out the side of her mouth from between her teeth and making his trousers tighten. “So, yes, another toast to me, I think.”

“I’ll most certainly drink to that,” he murmured, voice somewhat lower than he’d strictly intended, but not sorry as she gave a little shiver in response, leaning into him. “And especially to you in that dress.”

“Mum called me a tart,” she snickered. “She said that dressed like this, I might as well hang a sign around my neck and say I’m open for business.”

He barely managed to stop himself from asking any sort of follow up question, taking a long pull off his whisky instead, almost choking on it when Rose’s palm settled on his upper thigh, fingers spread across the width of it, the very tips of them dangerously close to a specific area. _Be cool, be cool. You’re not fifteen. Don’t embarrass yourself._

“Well, thanks for the drink, but I think it’s time for bed,” Rose sighed, rubbing gently at his leg. “Walk me up?”

“Of course.” Taking the empty glasses back to the cart for the cleaner to deal with tomorrow, he used the momentary privacy of his back to her to adjust himself. “Ready?”

* * *

They took their time climbing the stairs, his hand once again in the small of her back, fingers unable to stop themselves from rubbing circles on her skin.

He wondered if she would object if he moved his hand down to her bum.

Something told him she wouldn’t, but he didn’t try. Maybe next time. _Let’s see how tonight goes._

All too soon they reached her bedroom, pausing there. Rose leaned back against the door, and he tried not to look at how it accentuated her curves.

This was it, the moment, his one chance, and he couldn’t make himself do _anything_. _Say something, kiss her, what are you waiting for? Look at her! She’s practically begging for it._ That was true; she was oozing sex appeal, and he wanted to take her then and there.

Instead, he said, “This is you.”

_She knows that, moron, it’s her room. That the best you’ve got?_

“It is,” she replied, breathless, reaching out to toy with the buttons on his shirt; he instinctively moved closer, which was apparently what she wanted by her little smirk. “So…”

“So?”

Her chest heaved, and he couldn’t imagine how she could possibly be _breathing_ in a tension-filled moment such as this. “Here’s the thing… I could use a hand.”

“Oh? How so?” All of his blood was rushing south, leaving his brain all but empty, which actually made it easier – raising one forearm, he braced himself on the door, bracketing her against it, not close enough that they were touching, but certainly invading her personal space.

“I need help undoing the dress. The back, I mean. It’s too intricate to do by myself.”

Malcolm blinked; he’d spent most of the night studying the back (and front, and sides) of the dress, and as far as he could tell, the only zipper was at the small of her back going down, and the top could practically be peeled off. (He’d done it a dozen times in his mind, several of them notable for the use of his teeth.) “You do?”

Cheeks pink and eyes hooded, Rose nodded slowly, fingers now trailing up and down the row of buttons on his dress shirt. “I do. And, obviously, in return, I’d be happy to help you out of your tux. Fair is fair, after all.”

 _Holy fuck, she_ is _coming onto me._ _Say yes, say yes, say yes._

“I live to serve,” he managed, lowering his head towards her. “Anything you want. Need. _Desire_.”

“I might have quite a long list,” she whispered, hands moving to his hips and pulling him closer. “Is that okay?”

Dipping his head further he nuzzled his nose against her temple, unable to believe this was happening, happiness and shock running rampant through him. “More than, I insist. In fact, you should check it again, make sure it’s comprehensive. I want to _thoroughly_ satisfy it.”

Rose whimpered, and his lips kissed their way down to the corner of her mouth, waiting there, _resting_ there, for her permission.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered against her skin. “Am I understanding properly?” He kept his tone serious and quiet, wanting to make sure she knew this wasn’t part of whatever game they’d stumbled into. “Rose, tell me to go away and I will.”

She turned her head slightly, soft lips grazing against his own.

“Malcolm,” she sighed, “take me inside.”

“Are you _sure_?”

Her right hand slid around to his belt buckle and down, her words as clear as her actions. “Yes. I’m sure.”

She opened the door, and they went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, I left it there! For now...
> 
> Good news and bad news. The good news is, you WILL get to see the smut! The bad news is, not next chapter... I've decided to do a companion to this story of bonus material: scenes that just didn't fit, or took place before (or after) the bounds of the story told here. It will be created and linked to this story shortly, but until this finishes posting, it will only consist of images, including Rose and Clara's Gala dresses, Rose's wedding dress, and the house in Scotland.
> 
> After this story finishes (sometime in early-mid May) I will start posting additional text material, specifically but not limited to the smut following the end of this chapter. Keep an eye on it, or subscribe to the series! (I'm open to suggestions of things you want to see, but make no promises!) So far I have plans for 7 scenes/chapters - not all will be full-length chapters.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of passion, Rose and Malcolm trek up to Scotland and wonder what it all means. Rose gets her first look at the estate she is now Lady of.

The blaring alarm startled Rose awake, and groaning, she swatted blindly at her bedside table until the noise stopped. Once again in peaceful silence she buried her face deeper into her pillow, pouting slightly at having been woken up. She’d been having the most marvelous dream; after the Gala, she’d persuaded Malcolm to come to bed with her, and they’d spent half the night making glorious love.

Rolling over at the sound of her door squeaking open, she became aware of several things at once; she was naked, she was sore in delicious places, and Malcolm was walking towards her carrying a tray loaded with breakfast and wearing a dressing gown.

“I hope you don’t mind, I thought we’d share breakfast in bed,” he murmured, stopping at the side of the bed, looking adorably flustered and shy given what they’d shared.

Wide awake now at the scent of bacon Rose nodded eagerly, pulling back the covers from the other side of the bed, accidentally flashing him in the process. “Oops,” she giggled, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts; he didn’t look particularly offended, instead running his eyes over her like a starving man.

“Let’s eat,” was all he said, handing her the tray before moving to climb back into the bed.

“Erm-” When she nodded towards the dressing gown on the chair next to him he passed it over, and she gave an apologetic grin of thanks as she pulled it on while he got in.

“This looks lovely,” Rose observed, picking up one of the forks and diving in. “Smells good, too.”

“Thanks. On the weekends, I try to do a full fry-up – especially if Clara’s here. I’ve gotten away from it over the past few years- seemed a waste to do all this for myself- but… now that I’m not alone here, it might be time to resume it.”

Grinning, she nudged his foot with her own. “You can make me breakfast anytime.” Then, realizing what she was implying, she blushed and shoved a forkful of eggs in her mouth. _He’s your husband, you shagged, don’t be so weird._ She stopped chewing as it occurred to her that just because they’d been… _intimate_ , that didn’t automatically make them a couple. Little conversation had occurred, other than him checking every so often that she was good with what they were doing. No declarations of love had happened, nothing to indicate anything had changed between them except they’d now seen each other naked and… _done things_ to each other. Amazing things, granted, but…

She suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, nibbling on a piece of toast and drawing her dressing gown tighter around her with one hand.

He finished chewing, taking the time to set his fork down and have a mouthful of coffee before answering. “We fly out of Heathrow up to Inverness, and the estate driver will meet us there. Then it’s just roughly an hour’s drive north, and we’re there.”

“Sounds simple enough. How long’s the flight?”

“About an hour and a half- Graham’s picking us up at nine, and we should arrive a little after two. It’s part of why I made such a big breakfast- we’ll have lunch when we get there.”

Rose nodded in agreement, before biting her lip. “Um…”

“What?” Malcolm looked at her, concerned, and she tried to find the right way to phrase what she wanted to ask without offending him.

“Uh, do you- what would- any idea what the… _menu_ will look like during our trip?” she asked nervously, pushing a runaway lock of hair behind her ear. “Will it be…” she bit back _weird_ , trying to find an alternative- “traditionally Scottish?”

He stared at her for a long moment before his lips twitched. “No one’s going to try to force you to have haggis, if that’s your concern.”

“What about black pudding?”

“Nor that.” His smile broke free. “Fish, beef, lamb, venison… all possible, and perfectly normal. I didn’t think you were picky?”

“I’m not,” she said, slightly defensively, “but… there are certain things that just… Ugh.” She shivered, making a face. “And I don’t want to be rude, but it’s easier if I know going in.”

Leaning forward, Malcolm patted her leg. “Relax. I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, I already called ahead and told our chef, Ianto, that we’d like fish and chips for lunch and lamb chops for dinner. How’s that sound?”

“Brilliant,” Rose relaxed, thoroughly distracted by his hand on her leg; even through the sheet she could feel the warmth, and it was heating her blood. “Sorry, I just- I’m nervous,” she confided in a rush. “I want them to like me, and accept me, and I don’t want to embarrass you…”

“They will,” he said confidently, rubbing her thigh. “They’ll love you, trust me. How could they not? And it’s far more likely that _I_ will embarrass _you_.”

“True. Thanks.”

She just hoped he was right.

* * *

They settled into their seats, Rose still arguing with him. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want the window?”

He sighed, counted silently to ten, then said, “I’m absolutely certain. I’ve got some paperwork to look over, and I want you to enjoy. Look out the window, watch the country fly by. I insist.”

“Fine.” She huffed, belting herself in and fluffing her hair before looking around. “You really didn’t need to book business class- it’s not even a two hour flight.”

“It’s not that expensive, and I wanted the extra room. Besides, you’re going to spend the next week getting called ‘my lady’ – might as well start with the star treatment, eh?”

She gave him a shy smile, making his heart flutter. “If you insist.”

“I do.” He wanted to lean forward and kiss her, but wasn’t sure she would accept it- things were weird, a low-simmering tension between them. When he’d woken they’d been spooned together, and it was heavenly, but he’d been nervous about how she would react when she woke up. He had no idea if she felt the same as he did, if this was the start of a real relationship, or if she’d just been bored and horny and he was the closest bloke. Based on all the evidence he suspected it was closer to the first than the second, but he didn’t know _how_ close. The last thing he wanted was for her to wake up and say it was a mistake.

So he took the coward’s way out. She hadn’t seemed bothered by his rejoining her in bed, or sharing breakfast, but… that left a lot of room between where they seemed to be and where he wanted to be.

Because he wanted _everything_.

* * *

Over the past eight years of working together they’d taken a handful of business trips together. Typically Rose would make all the arrangements for that and he would let her lead, but for this, he’d handled everything himself, and felt an absurd sense of self-pride that things had gone well. The last thing he wanted was for their trip to get off to a rocky start.

Walking out through security, he spotted a lad with a sign reading _Gallifrey_ and headed for it, wheeling their suitcases behind him as they approached.

“You Ross?”

“Lord Gallifrey?” The young man looked startled, bowing his head lower than necessary, and Malcolm hid a smile at his nervousness; it had been a good ten years since Wallace was well enough to travel back to Scotland, so this would be the first time the lad met the owner of the Estate he worked on. “An honor, my lord, may I take those?” Then he craned his neck around Malcolm, who glanced back to see Rose practically hiding behind him. “Er, Lady Gallifrey?”

“Hi,” Rose said sheepishly, wriggling her fingers in his direction as she came around to stand at Malcolm’s side. “I’m Rose.”

“Yes, my lady.” To his credit he didn’t bat an eye, keeping to the proper address, and Malcolm’s opinion of him soared. “If it pleases you…”

Malcolm passed over the rolling suitcases, keeping his ever-present backpack with him, noting out of the corner of his eye Rose kept her purse and carry-bag as well. It was a short walk to the car, and Malcolm found it upon himself to keep the idle chitchat going, the other two too nervous or uncomfortable to speak much.

Seeing the car he smiled, not bothering to tamp down his boyish joy. For many years, his sole reason for looking forward to inheriting the estate was this car- he’d learned to drive in it, and had always admired how cool and elegant it looked. He wasn’t a car man by any means, but this- this one he knew every inch of.

A canary-yellow Edwardian roadster, it had been lovingly restored several times by the family, and had been called _Bessie_ for over fifty years. It was as much a part of the family as he was, at this point; moreso, he’d argue, as it never really left the Estate. He was sorry to see the top up, though it would be the more practical way to travel. _I’ll have to take Rose out for a ride on the grounds with it down._

“Still running well?” he asked when Ross joined him at the bonnet, which he’d popped to take a look. “How often is she driven? Is the Silver Dawn still around?”

“Yes, my lord, beautifully. I tend to her everyday- I hope you find her to your satisfaction. Take her through the property two or three times a week. Same for the Silver Dawn. We have a modern Land Rover that’s used for more daily needs.”

Malcolm let the hood down, nodding. “So far, yes, I’m satisfied. We’ll see how she handles- she was old when I was young.”

Rose snorted, leaning on the side of the car. “Must be positively ancient, now, then,” she teased.

“Bite your tongue,” Malcolm rolled his eyes, returning to her and opening the door for her to enter. “I’m not that old. Still in the prime of life, me.”

She waited until he was situated next to her to respond. With a coy grin and a hand on his knee, she said, “Oh, I know,” in a terribly flirty voice.

No question- this would be an interesting trip.

* * *

Rose stared out the window, watching the farmland go by. She’d tried to listen as Malcolm peppered Ross with questions about how the Estate was doing and people he knew, but was almost instantly lost. It didn’t help that his accent had grown thicker almost immediately; it was normally strong, easy to tell he was a Scotsman, but now…

She liked it. A _lot_.

“What do you think of Scotland so far?” Malcolm asked, squeezing her hand and drawing her attention back to him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly, giving him a bright smile. “What are all the golden fields?”

“It’s rapeseed. You make vegetable oil or protein meal out of it. You’ll find it all over Scotland- I believe we grow some as well, don’t we Ross?”

“Aye, my lord, we do,” Ross confirmed. “Is this your first trip to Scotland, my lady?”

Malcolm had to nudge her. _Right, that’s me. I’ll never get used to this._ “Uh, yes, it is. So far, I love it.”

“In just a little bit we’ll pass through some of the hills, and you may be in luck- I believe I spotted some heather on my trip down, which would be a treat. By the end of the week, it should be out in full force.”

“Can’t wait.”

* * *

“Rose, we’re here.”

“Mhmmm.” Blinking, she lifted her head from where it had apparently fallen on Malcolm’s shoulder to look out the window. “We are?”

“Well, almost,” he conceded, “we’re about a mile from the gates, but I didn’t want you to miss your first look.”

Yawning, she rolled her head around to stretch her neck. “Thanks.” Taking his proffered hand and linking their fingers together, she watched diligently out the window for any sign.

Only a minute or so later they came to a minor fork in the road, where it seemed the main road went left and a side road off to the right; a little cottage sat just behind the stone wall, which ended in pillars. No gate crossed the road, but it had a distinct _private_ feel to it.

“Here we are,” Malcolm confirmed, as they turned onto the side road. “The house is about half a mile up.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t see anything yet as the road was tree-lined, but her excitement was growing, as were her nerves.

He nudged her, and before she could ask _what_ , they came around the curve to see a gorgeous house waiting for them. The front of it contained three solid sections; the middle was Georgian-style, with a light-red brick front and a rounded portico. The side sections were white-washed and bright. The overall effect was of a beautiful, clean, well-maintained house, and her heart soared. Knowing that neither Malcolm nor Wallace had been there in so long had had her concerned about what the state of it would be, imagining a damp and dreary rundown house in the middle of nowhere.

This was infinitely better than that.

“Oh,” she gasped, squeezing his hand. “It’s spectacular.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm laughed. “Want to see the inside?”

She nodded eagerly, and still holding hands, they made their way inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose meets some of the staff, gets her first tour, and has an awkward semi-conversation regarding sleeping arrangements with Malcolm.

_ **Sunday, cont'd** _

They entered the house hand in hand, and Rose was grateful for his silent support and the way he took the lead, allowing her to observe for a moment before diving in.

Two men stood waiting just inside the door, bowing the moment they entered. “Lord Gallifrey, Lady Gallifrey,” the closer of the two spoke first, smiling nervously. “Welcome home.” He was an odd-looking man, surprisingly short and nearly as wide, bald, but with a kind air about him. “How was your trip up?”

“Well, Nardole, thank you,” Malcolm answered easily. “Rose, this is Nardole- he’s the butler.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Rose offered. “Hello.”

“My lady.” With another slight bow, he turned back to Malcolm. “Shall I see to your things, my lord?”

“Yes, Nardole, thank you.”

He scurried off out the door, and it hadn’t fully shut behind him before she could hear him instructing Ross to unload the car in a firm and authoritative voice she wouldn’t have guessed him capable of. Trying not to smile for fear of seeming rude, she turned to the second man, breath catching. _Blimey, he’s gorgeous._ He was almost the direct opposite of Nardole; at least six foot, he looked fit and trim, even in somewhat-dorky looking laborer clothing.

“Lord Gallifrey,” he said formally, bowing slightly before turning to face Rose. His eyes widened and a smile grew, and when he said “Lady Gallifrey” it was in a far more flirty tone.

“Hello.” Tamping down a blush, she tried to remain detached, as if she couldn’t get lost in his clear blue eyes, or her fingers weren’t itching to run through his dark locks. “How do you do?”

“Stop that,” Malcolm barked, and she looked at him startled only to find he was staring at the other man with an exasperated expression.

“I’m just saying ‘hello’!” the man protested, stance easing, and she realized that this must be Jack, Malcolm’s American cousin and presumptive heir. He’d explained on the way up that the Estate could only go to male heirs, and when Jack was twenty and causing a ruckus at home, was sent back to the ancestral estate to _get his head on right_ , and stayed. Malcolm had called him a ‘bit of a flirt’ – based on first glances, that seemed to be an understatement. “It’s not illegal!”

Malcolm sighed, a tad overdramatically, and rolled his eyes at Rose. “My cousin, Jack,” he said unnecessarily. “Don’t be fooled by his pretty words- he’s not the long-term relationship type. Meaning twenty-four hours or longer.”

Jack scoffed. “One- not true. My _shortest_ relationship was the amazing long weekend I spent in Rio in college with my roommate and his girlfriend. Two- I _am_ in a relationship, thank you very much.”

“I know- you think just because I’m in London I’m out of the loop? Please.” Malcolm turned to Rose, explaining, “He and our chef, Ianto, have been together for several years now.”

“And to think, you made so many snarky comments about _me_ boinking the staff,” Jack snickered. “Only time will tell indeed.”

Malcolm’s ears turned red, and he coughed. “ _Anyway_ , Jack will be taking us through the grounds tomorrow, catching me up and giving you a tour at the same time. For now, though, he has things to see to.”

“Actually-”

A narrowed-eye stare from Malcolm silenced Jack, and with a wink and wave, he slipped around them and disappeared out the back door.

“Now,” Malcolm said, once they were alone, “how about a brief tour while they bring our things in?”

“Sounds brilliant.”

* * *

Despite being a rather brief overview, Rose’s head was spinning with information by the time they climbed the main staircase up to the second floor. It was an eclectic mix of old and new, much in the same way the townhouse was; it felt new and strange but like home all at once.

“So, up here are the family rooms,” Malcolm continued, “they’ll be much more modern and familiar. In the eighties Wallace had toyed with opening the house up to the public, or maybe turning it into a bed and breakfast to generate income, and he had some work done to that effect, mainly modernizing the bedrooms, but in the end changed his mind and kept it private. A lot of that had to do with the distillery opening and- well, to be perfectly frank, there’s nothing _interesting_ here. No real draw. Homes like these are a dime a dozen, ones with much more historical interest. We do open the gardens in the winter and spring, though, for a few quid- they decorate for Christmas and Hogmanay, leaving the lights up through Burns Night, then open again when the flowers bloom. It’s beautiful.”

“I bet,” Rose murmured when he paused for breath. “So far, I’m impressed.”

He grinned. “Good.” Dramatically swinging open a door, he said, “And _these_ are the rooms of the lady of the house.”

Rose poked her head in, eyes widening. “It’s gorgeous!” The room was of a reasonable size, but it faced the gardens; even from the door, she could see out the windows to the bright flowers and trees. A four-poster bed sat along the wall backing to the hallway, and she could just imagine waking up and being able to look outside as soon as she opened her eyes – if she were a morning person. _More like I’d groan and pull another pillow over my head._ She didn’t notice her suitcase, and wasn’t sure if it was already emptied and put away, or if her things were in Malcolm’s room(s?) – _he did say ‘lady of the house’._

“Er, anyway,” Malcolm said, as if slightly surprised, “my rooms are next door.” Closing the door behind him he led the way the few meters down the hall, Rose trailing behind him, frowning. 

_Was he expecting my stuff to be there?_ Then, a disappointing thought- _Was last night a one-time thing? Does he not want to share a room?_ Then, even worse- _He better fucking not think he’s gonna come into my room and ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ and go back to his own. Or that I’ll do that. I’m not a bloody booty call._

“Here we are,” he opened the next door, “and good, our things are here. I think we’ve got about twenty minutes until lunch will be served, so we can freshen up. What do you think?”

Rose followed him into the room; it was similar to ‘hers’, with more of a masculine feel to it, but it still overlooked the gardens. The bed _did_ look inviting, like something out of a historical romance, and she certainly wouldn’t mind getting _friendly_ in it. “Very nice,” she said, when she realized he was waiting for her approval. “I like it.”

Coming around the end of the bed she found his backpack and her carrybag perched on the settee there, and following a hunch, she opened the large armoire to find her clothes already neatly hung up and sharing the space with Malcolm’s. _Like a real couple._ The thought made her heart flutter, and she turned back to find he was gone.

“Malcolm?”

“Loo,” he called back. “One minute.”

When he exited he joined her at the window, looking out. In the distance, she could see a few people strolling the garden paths. “So, they put your things in here,” he said somewhat awkwardly. “If you’re not comfortable with that, we can have them moved next door.”

“Is there a reason I should be uncomfortable?” She didn’t look at him, but tensed in anticipation of his answer.

A hand gently settled on her shoulder, as if uncertain the touch was welcome. “No, but… I don’t want you to think… After last night…” They were interrupted by a knock, and he sighed in frustration, hand dropping. “Yes?”

“Lunch will be served at your pleasure, my lord,” a female voice called.

“Thank you, we’ll be down shortly.”

Rose turned, but he caught her arm, letting her go almost immediately.

“I don’t have any expectations,” he said quietly. “Just because we- I don’t expect- That’s not- I won’t lie and say I don’t want to, but more than that, I don’t want you to feel any pressure to do _anything_. I don’t expect sex just because we might sleep in the same bed. I want you to feel happy, and comfortable, and safe here. No expectations. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, before catching her tongue between her teeth. “But you’re also saying that if I jump you, you’re down for it.”

A smile stretched across his face. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Good to know.” Grinning, she turned towards the door. “Now, didn’t you say something about chips?”

* * *

As promised lunch was fish and chips (and beer), but it was the fanciest fish and chips she’d ever had. Served on fine china it was still wrapped in newspaper, but the dichotomy was so great she just sat for several moments, staring. “What-”

“It’s good,” Malcolm encouraged, picking his up and biting into it as if they were sitting on the couch in his office with takeaway from the local chippy. “Go on.”

They were seated across from each other, at the center of a long formal dining table, a server standing by the door as if just waiting for the opportunity to serve. Casting him a nervous glance, she leaned forward and whispered to Malcolm, “But it’s so _fancy_.”

“So?”

As much as Jackie would like to forget, they hadn’t always been rich. Rose had been born to a struggling twenty-year-old couple barely making rent on an Estate flat, and was seven when Pete got lucky with his business, and they were able to move up in life. She’d always been taught that fine things were meant to be saved, to be used sparingly and only for special occasions.

“It just… seems like it should be saved for something special,” she shrugged one shoulder, eyeing the food warily. It almost felt like a test.

Malcolm set his fish down, finishing his bite before leaning towards her. “That’s a valid way of looking at it,” he acknowledged, “and I think that’s one of the differences between new money and old money. How _I_ see it is this- everything is meant to be used. Yes, this is very nice china, but it does no good sitting on a shelf looking pretty and never being touched. It should be enjoyed. And sometimes, using something special on a mundane thing makes the mundane thing special- you’ve had your fair share of fish and chips in your life, but I’ll wager _this_ is an instance you’ll never forget.”

“That’s true,” she agreed hesitantly. “But-”

“The experience you have using the item is worth far more in the long run than the item itself. Now, it’s all getting cold, and it’s the best damn fish and chips you’ll ever have, so- eat up.”

Capitulating, she gingerly lifted the newspaper-wrapped fish to her mouth, and bit in. “Oh my God,” she moaned, “it’s so good.”

“See?”

She opened eyes she didn’t know had closed to find him watching her, looking too self-pleased to suit her. “Shut up.”

He just smirked, popping a chip in his mouth. “As fresh and homemade as it gets- potatoes from the garden, and fish from the Kyle. Caught this morning, I’d wager.”

“Yes, my lord,” the server spoke from his spot in the corner when Malcolm’s glance cut over to him. “I believe Jack caught them himself.”

“I’m sure he did. Thank you.” Malcolm grinned at Rose. “What do you think so far?”

“I think…” Rose stopped chewing, looking around the imposing formal dining room and down at her plate, before smiling back at him. “I think it’s _wonderful_.”

“So do I.” He lifted his beer towards her in a toast. “Welcome to Scotland, Rose Tyler.”

“Glad to be here.” She really, really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> While I intend to reply to them all (at some point), please know I read all your comments and am very grateful for the love you're showing this story!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment - almost.

_ **Sunday, cont'd** _

“It’s absolutely gorgeous here,” Rose murmured as they strolled the gardens. “So different from the hustle and bustle of London. The rolling green hills, mountains in the distance. I thought my parents’ house was out of the way, but this…”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, with perhaps a touch of smugness. “I’ve always loved it up here, the wide open spaces, the lack of people… It’s been a long time.”

“Why?”

Malcolm gave her a wry smile. “Missy. I thought… I was afraid that I’d come up here and just… drown in the memories. That I’d look around every corner and see the ghost of the past.”

Rose nodded, biting back a sigh. _I should’ve known._ “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…” She realized the danger in that only when she finished speaking. _Yeah, sorry, that doesn’t mean a shag. If we were strangers in a pub and you wanted to fuck me to forget your ex, I’d probably say yes. But here, now, as us? Not bloody likely._

“I said I was _afraid_ that would happen. But, thankfully, it hasn’t. I don’t see the past, I just see… the future. _My_ future.” He turned shining eyes on her, and her heart leapt in hope.

Still, she tried to deflect with a joke. “Sheepherding?”

“Aye,” he went along with it after a beat, eyes crinkling slightly as he stared at her. “I’ve always suspected that was my true calling, but never wanted to face facts. How did you know?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course,” he grinned, using their entwined elbows to pull her into his side. “Can you imagine? Me, whistling at dogs all day? Walking through muck? It’s an honest living, but I’m not the man for it.”

“Good to know, because if it was, that should’ve been a conversation _before_ the vows.”

“There’s probably a _few_ conversations we should’ve had before the vows,” Malcolm murmured, and she glanced up to find him staring at the ground. “But, here we are.”

Rose’s brow furrowed, wondering what he meant. “Don’t tell me there’s _another_ Mrs. Tucker, this one locked in the attic,” she ventured.

He laughed and looked up, any evidence of his previous pensiveness gone. “If there is, it’s news to both of us,” he teased. “No, no, no one else.”

“All right, but let me know if you’ve got your eye on someone to take my place,” she warned, not entirely joking. “I need proper notice.”

“No need,” he didn’t hesitate, “there’s just you. Only you. And that’s not going to change.”

She didn’t know how to reply to that, so they lapsed into silence as they strolled the grounds. The sun was starting to sink, the visitors slowly making their way to the exit, and she wondered what, in fact, the future _did_ hold for them.

_Only time will tell._

_I always hated that saying._

* * *

Jack met them at the door when they returned from their walk, smiling brightly. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Rose agreed as they stopped in front of him, subtly untwining her arm from Malcom’s; to her slight surprise, he allowed it, but only to skate his fingers down her forearm to her hand, lacing them together. It was hardly an unwelcome touch, except now she was blushing for no reason in front of his cousin. “Do you get much time to admire it? Take in the sunset?”

“I’m more likely to see the sun _rise_ ,” Jack said with a bawdy wink. “No, seriously, I’m usually up before dawn to get the day started around here, but I see the sunset on occasion. When Yan has a day off on a clear evening, we’ll go out in the boat and watch from the water. If you get the chance while you’re here, you should. It’s _tres_ romantic.”

Malcolm gave a slight groan. “Well, we might’ve before you admitted to a romp in it,” he complained. “You’re incorrigible.”

His cousin just shrugged, still grinning. “But always _satisfied_. Can you say the same?” He scanned Rose, gaze lingering just shy of making her uncomfortable. “Maybe so.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Malcolm said sharply, stiffening next to her. “She’s still the-”

“Malcolm,” Rose interrupted quietly, squeezing his hand, “don’t. He’s just joking around. Right?” she sent Jack a pointed look.

Thankfully, he was as bright as he was pretty, quickly nodding along. “I just meant that you look happy.”

Still looking as though his feathers were ruffled, Malcolm gave a sharp nod and a sigh. “Fine. Were you waiting for us for a reason?”

“Uh, yes,” he jumped tracks relatively smoothly, “I thought you might want to check in with Gwen, introduce her to Ro- Lady Gallifrey, that sort of thing. She’s got a few minutes right now.”

“Yes, let’s.”

* * *

“Well, another fabulous meal,” Rose grinned as they left the dining room. “Why doesn’t Ianto- that’s his name, right?- open his own restaurant?”

“He, uh, started as a footman,” Malcolm, replied, distracted, as he tried to decide where to go now. “Fell into the cooking when the position opened up. I’m reasonably certain he stayed for Jack- he was always talking about moving on before they got involved. Hasn’t mentioned it in years, now.” _The last time we had a drink in the library, we ended up in bed. I don’t want her to think I’m propositioning her, but that’s been our routine since she moved in and I_ like _it._ “Not sure I understand that, staying in a job you’ve outgrown for _love_.”

“I do,” Rose muttered, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. “Some things are worth staying for,” she added a little louder. “Why are we standing in the hallway?”

“Wasn’t sure where to go,” he decided to be honest, glancing at her. “I can give you more of a tour, we can turn in early, have a drink… Watch a movie?”

Her lips quirked up, and she arched an eyebrow. “I presume there’s a drink cart in the library, same as at home?”

He nodded, unable to speak, too overcome with joy at her calling the townhouse ‘home’ already.

“Then, shall we?”

* * *

Deep in the throes of _déjà vu_ , he purposely turned his back on her as they entered, heading right for the cart to fix their drinks. “Scotch, or something else? I’ve got a full cart here- you’d think they were expecting the queen.”

“The usual is fine,” she said easily, and he turned to find her browsing the bookshelves. “Honestly, I don’t understand how you can bear _not_ living here full time. This place is amazing.”

“Thanks.” Joining her, he handed over her glass. “I love it, it’s a good respite from the real world, but… London is my home. I treasure my time here more when it’s fleeting.” Taking a sip, he sighed, confiding, “I always thought I’d bring my family up here, like I came as a child. Obviously that didn’t work out for several reasons, but… the could-have-beens and never-weres haunt me, sometimes. Makes it hard to enjoy the here-and-now.”

“I know what you mean.” Rose turned to him, putting a gentle hand on his arm, bright and kind eyes smiling at him. “But you can’t get lost in it, otherwise you’ll miss what’s happening right in front of you.”

In truth, he knew what was happening right in front of him, and it scared the living daylights out of him. He knew in his bones if he kissed her she would reciprocate, would even let him have her against this very bookcase. The idea was equal parts terrifying and intoxicating, and he wrestled with himself. “I want…”

“Yes?”

He closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to her. “I want to be happy,” he whispered, as if saying it louder would void the wish. “I want someone to love me the way I love them, with everything that they are, someone who would just… be there for me, and I could be there for her, and we could just dive into it together. Partners, in every sense. Soulmates. But… it has to be even. They have to be as present and committed as I am, because I’ve done that before, over and over, gave too much of myself and got too little in return. Am I asking too much?”

“No, you’re not,” Rose replied. Her voice was soft and warm, and a braver man would say it was full of love. “You’re not. And the fact that no one has lived up to that yet doesn’t mean _no one_ will. Maybe… maybe you’re just looking in the wrong place.” As close as they were he felt her breath puff against his lips, could hear the shake in it. “Maybe you just need to open your eyes.”

He did, unable to resist her, to deny her siren song. Their eyes met, and for the first time, his heart dared to believe that she might actually, possibly, _miraculously_ feel the same. “Rose-”

“Oh, God,” she suddenly gagged, eyes widening in horror. “Loo?” She broke away, running out into the hall, and he chased her, directing her into the first bathroom they came across; she slammed the door in his face, and only seconds later, the unmistakable sounds of someone being sick filtered through to him.

“Well, that’s auspicious,” he grumbled to himself, fishing out his mobile; in the 21st century, it was easier to ring the maid that way. “Rose, you all right?”

Another retch was his answer, and he shook his head.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

* * *

Padding out of the loo still tying the waistband on his sleep pants, Malcolm yawned. Killing the last light he climbed into bed, gingerly shifting around in a vain attempt to not disturb Rose.

“I’m sorry I was sick,” she mumbled in a small voice, and he glanced over at her back in surprise, having thought she was already out.

“Don’t be. _I’m_ sorry. I completely forgot to tell Ianto about the raspberries, didn't even notice them. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Shuffling came from the other side of the bed, and a moment later, he saw the faint glint of her eye. “It’s all right, I forget half the time too, it’s so rarely an issue. But I’m okay, really.”

“Good.” Not quite satisfied but willing to take her word for it, he stretched out on his side facing her. “I hate to think this is how you spend your first night in Scotland.”

“I’ll say you got me drunk,” she replied, voice soft and somewhat woozy. “And the high altitude affected me.”

“It’s not that different,” he laughed softly, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. “Not enough to be noticeable.”

Rose just sighed, snuggling a little closer. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

His heart melted, and he tentatively laid his arm over her hip, relaxing when she only moved closer still. “You’re my wife.” The words, the very _idea_ still felt strange and unreal, even though it had now been ten days. He wondered, vaguely, if it would ever feel real, and not just a dream. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Ditto,” she mumbled. “Par’ners.” She let out a soft snore, almost out, before saying one last thing- it was hard to hear, and he wasn’t sure, but she was fully asleep before his heart could restart, let alone his brain direct words out of his mouth to ask her to repeat it.

Though he spent the next hour wide awake convincing himself it was a final _thank you_ , the treacherous, greedy bastard living in his chest was bold enough to argue back what he really wanted her to have said.

_Love you._

“I love you too,” he breathed.

He fell asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's first full day in Scotland, filled with new and exciting adventures- horseback riding through the property, getting to know Jack, and by extension Malcolm, and letting the tensions of London melt away in favor of a more delectable source - her husband.

**_ Monday _ **

When Malcolm woke the next morning, it was essentially perfect. Bright sunlight streamed in through the window strong enough to penetrate gaps in the drawn bed curtains, birds chirped outside, and Rose Tyler was sprawled across him, sound asleep.

Not bothering to stop a beaming smile he just relaxed back into the pillows, wrapping one arm around Rose’s back while the other folded behind his head. He didn’t have to check the clock to know it was early, too early to try to get up. If he did the staff would drop what they were doing to attend to him, and he hated the thought of pulling them from their routine more than necessary. It was a fact of life in a house like this that certain things had to be done before the family was up, and he didn’t want to disrupt that.

Besides, he was busy acting as a pillow for Rose.

The birdsong outside combined with her soft breathing into a soothing melody, and before he knew it, his eyes were once again slipping shut, sleep reclaiming him.

No matter; he was on his honeymoon.

A lie-in sounded perfect.

* * *

He woke from his dozing by Rose tensing suddenly against him, and his eyes flew open to find her staring up at him.

“I think someone’s in here,” she breathed, and he relaxed to know it wasn’t their position that bothered her.

“It’s probably the maid, opening the drapes, lighting the fire and bringing us tea,” he replied in kind, conscious that the girl could probably hear them; the curtains weren’t particularly thick. “She’ll leave in a minute.”

Sure enough, several quiet moments later, the door shut firmly, louder than necessary; on a normal morning it would’ve been near silent, and he knew she’d done that to let them know she was gone without disturbing them.

“She’s gone,” he said in a normal tone. “Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

Rose yawned, burrowing deeper into his embrace to his delight. “S’okay. Good to know, though. Does she come in at the same time every day?”

“Nine o’clock unless told otherwise,” he confirmed.

“Mhmm, okay. We’ll have to keep that in mind- don’t want her catching us… in the middle of anything.” She glanced up at him with a coy little smirk, and he had to swallow twice to even attempt a reply.

“Uh huh.” _Smooth_ , he cursed himself, tongue-tied; his imagination was running rampant, and at any moment she could shift and feel-

Her small grunt of surprise as she did just that had his cheeks flaming, and he stared up at the ceiling in mortification.

“Um…”

She wriggled around next to him, a weight a moment later on his shoulder telling him she hadn’t run away, had instead moved slightly closer. “You said we were meeting Jack for breakfast,” she murmured. “How much time do we have?”

Eyes widening he glanced down at her, surprised to find a barely-banked fire burning in her gaze, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Guh.”

Her expression cleared, a smile growing, and she reached up, patting his cheek. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break you. Maybe tomorrow morning.” Sitting up, she bent down and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth; not quite a proper kiss, but far more than a friendly peck. “D’you mind if I use the loo first?”

And she was gone, padding across the room, leaving him in a befuddled state.

“Okay.”

It was going to be a deliciously unbearable day.

* * *

They went down to breakfast once again hand in hand, and more than once Rose had to use that connection to keep Malcolm from walking into a wall or door frame. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, a big, dopey grin permanently etched on his often-severe face. She wasn’t entirely sure what had him in such a good mood; the previous night was a bit hazy starting mid-dessert, though some things were clear- how he’d cared for her while she was sick, how safe and comfortable he made her feel. She vaguely remembered being in the library, and a serious conversation, but the details were gone. She considered telling him that, asking what they had discussed, but was slightly embarrassed about all of it.

Entering the dining room she found serving plates on warmers covered in all the fixings of a full-English- eggs and bangers, beans, blood pudding, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, toast… The spread covered half the table, smelling and looking incredible, and her stomach rumbled in response.

“Hungry?” Malcolm teased, releasing her hand in favor of putting his own at the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Dig in.”

“Alright.” Picking up a warm plate she took a little bit of most things, waiting until Malcolm had filled his own before going towards the other end of the table, where three place settings were arranged. He took the head of the table and she settled on his right-hand side, and was just taking her first bite when the door opened again and Jack burst in, larger than life.

“Good morning honeymooners!” he boomed, efficiently fixing his own plate before joining them. “How was your first night in Scotland?” he asked Rose with a wink and a smirk, making Malcolm groan.

“Jack-”

“Absolutely brilliant,” she interrupted, taking a sip of her orange juice and finding that it was, in fact, a mimosa, barely able to refrain from coughing in surprise. “Bloody hell, is everyone trying to get me drunk?”

Malcolm laughed. “Sorry, I think they’re just trying to impress you. Want regular juice?”

She pursed her lips, considering. “No, it’s fine- I just wasn’t expecting it on a Monday morning. But, we are on holiday, aren’t we?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack smirked from across from her, “it would take a _lot_ of drinking for someone of your new status to be considered an alcoholic, and even more to raise any eyebrows. No one’s judging.”

“I highly doubt that, but appreciate the support,” she said dryly. “Now, where are you taking us on this tour this morning?”

* * *

“I don’t know about this,” Rose whispered to Malcolm, biting her lower lip in worry. They were standing a few hundred meters from the back of the house at the stables, a beautiful chestnut horse in front of her, waiting for her to mount it. “I’ve never been on a horse before.” A horse groom was holding the beast steady and still, hopefully out of hearing distance.

“You’ll be alright,” Malcolm soothed. “I promise- Tardis is the sweetest horse in the world, perfect for you. Just, try to be confident and it’ll be fine. She’ll sense your fear.”

“That… doesn’t really help.” Sighing, Rose rolled her shoulders back and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“That’s my girl.”

He guided her to the steps, helping her up and onto the horse and making sure she got settled, occasionally pausing to talk to the horse and pat it. He was clear and concise, and by the end of his impromptu lecture, she was feeling somewhat better about the idea. “You know, there are easier ways to kill me for my inheritance,” she joked weakly, as he moved across to his own horse and swung himself up easily. “This seems like a lot of effort.”

Her husband just laughed, the bastard, and trotted his horse over to hers. “Sit up straight, keep hold of the reins, and stay centered,” he instructed. “You’ll be brilliant.” Reaching over he smacked the horse’s rump, and she lurched forward.

“Oh _fuck_ you,” she gasped, holding tightly to the reins, certain she was about to fall to her death as they rushed down the lane at what felt like an unreasonable speed. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuckfuckfuck- hey! I’m doing it!”

“That’s it!” he cheered, and she didn’t dare look back, letting the horse go where it liked; a moment later Malcolm appeared out of the corner of her eye, pulling abreast of her. “Here we go.”

Jack was just ahead, waiting for them at a crossroads, and watched them approach with a grin. “Ready?”

His eyes widened as she continued on past him, and she called back, “How do I stop this thing?”

Their laughter was utterly unhelpful, and she swore that as soon as she was off the horse, she would kill them both- if she didn’t die first herself.

* * *

She slid off the horse in an entirely undignified way right into Malcolm’s waiting arms, clinging to him as her legs trembled, fighting to keep her upright.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmured in her ear, effortlessly holding her up. “You did it! I’m so proud of you.”

Rose just whimpered in response, resting her forehead against his sternum, panting for breath. It had been terrifying and exhilarating, and while she could see the appeal, she’d rather keep both feet on the ground.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” He leaned back to see her face, concern etched across his. “Rose.”

“Please don’t make me do that again,” she whispered, pleading, cutting a nervous glance towards Jack, who was several feet away on the other side of the road with his and Malcolm’s horses, tying the reins to a tree. “I can’t- please, Malcolm.”

“Okay.” He didn’t hesitate, nodding. “No problem. Let’s have lunch for now, then we can figure out how to get back.”

She nodded in agreement, finally feeling stable enough to let go of him and stand on her own. “Thank you.”

Malcolm kissed her forehead. “Of course.” Taking the reins from her he secured them to a tree as Jack had done, and led her out onto the riverbank towards where his cousin was setting out a picnic blanket. It was a spectacular spot, with a view of the water and the farmland on the other side, secluded and peaceful.

“So, what did you think of the property?” Jack asked as they approached, looking up from where he unpacked the picnic basket. “Rose?”

“It’s beautiful,” she enthused, dropping onto the ground and wincing. “God, my arse is sore.”

“Don’t,” Malcolm cut in when Jack opened his mouth. “Just- don’t.”

Rose snorted. “Everything looks well-cared for. I don’t know much about property management, but from an aesthetic view, it’s incredible.”

“I agree. You seem to be doing an excellent job, Jack, thank you. I have one or two concerns- ideas, really- but we can discuss them once we return to the house. The most important question, though, is- what’s for lunch?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, you’re gonna _love_ this.”

* * *

They spent a good two hours sitting on the blanket under partially cloudy skies, trading stories and food containers, getting to know each other. Rose was thrilled to hear about Malcolm in his younger years, but was thankful that Jack avoided the topic of Missy. Jack’s own stories were barely believable, full of adventures and travel and sexual exploits that had her in near hysterics.

It was so enjoyable that by the time they packed up she’d almost forgotten any troubles, though they came rushing back as soon as they started towards the road and horses.

Rose stopped dead, tugging Malcolm to a halt, waiting until Jack had gotten some distance between them to whisper, “How are we getting back?”

His mouth tightened as he considered her. “Is it riding by yourself that’s the problem, or horses in general?” he asked carefully. “I can have Jack take Tardis back on her own and you can ride with me, or we can have him go back himself and come back for us in the Land Rover. Or I suppose we could walk, but it’s a good five miles.”

She looked from him to the horses to the sky, weighing her options. “Riding with you might be okay,” she hedged, “at least, I’m willing to try it. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Malcolm agreed immediately. “We’ll start back, and you just let me know if we need to stop. Let me just go tell Jack.”

“Okay.”

Wrapping her arms around herself she let him get a headstart, following a minute later. By the time she arrived it had all been arranged, Jack on his horse holding the reins to Malcolm’s, Malcolm on hers- without the saddle, which she spotted a moment later with Jack.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked, looking up at him, worried.

“Yes. I mean, it’s not the _best_ idea, but for us, it’s fine. Like I said, she’s as peaceful as they come.”

“But… there’s no saddle.”

“That’s easier for her, and more comfortable for us. I promise, it’s okay- just take my hand, and I’ll pull you up.”

It took several tries, but eventually she was seated in front of him, pressed solidly against him. He had one arm around her waist, anchoring her, the other held the reins. “Now, it’ll take longer to get back,” Malcolm said, leaning forward slightly to talk into her ear, “but we’ll be going slow. Even if something happens it’ll be minor. Okay?”

“I trust you.” Moving slowly and carefully she half-turned to meet his eye. “I trust you. Just… let’s go.”

“Okay.” And then they started moving, and after several hundred meters, she started to relax back against him.

Though she hadn’t been thrilled at first at the idea it would take a while to return, and her thighs were absolutely killing her when she finally slid off back at the stable, it had been wonderful to spend so long pressed against Malcolm, his chest to her back, breathing together. In some ways it had felt more intimate than when they’d gone to bed together two nights before, made her feel so much closer to him.

She wanted more of that closeness, but with more privacy and less clothing.

She couldn’t wait to go to bed that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be up on Saturday.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night in. The following day out is threatened by the lack of desire to climb out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we move towards the end of the story, we will start to earn that E rating! Things will slowly steam up starting now, so if you're not comfortable with that, I suggest you proceed with caution, or back out entirely.

**_ Monday, cont’d _ **

Peeking over the top of her book, Rose took advantage of the opportunity to watch Malcolm. They were in the library after dinner, as they had been essentially every night since she moved into the townhouse, though this was the first time they were positioned as they were. While Malcolm was seated normally, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee as he read over paperwork, Rose was stretched out, her back against the arm of the couch and her feet in Malcolm’s lap. His left hand was idly rubbing at the arch of one foot, doing little but fanning the flames of desire inside her.

His hair rumpled, jacket long abandoned, glasses perched firmly on his nose, he looked… _delectable_. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on her book when he was so close, looking as he did, and she entertained the idea of seducing him then and there, of climbing into his lap and having her wicked way with him with only the books as witness.

“You’re staring,” he noted absently, and she flushed.

“What’cha doing?”

Momentarily abandoning his half-hearted foot massage, he pulled his glasses off with one hand, rubbing his eyes and face with the other before replacing the specs. “Going over the books, making sure we’re in as good a standing as Jack says. Not that I don’t trust him, but… as I like to say, _trust but verify_. I want to make sure he’s not hiding problems.”

“Found any?”

“No.” Leaning back into the welcoming embrace of the comfortable sofa, he smiled at her. “Well, other than he lets his boyfriend buy expensive ingredients for feeding the household. It’s not the end of the world, but it does need to be cut back. _I_ don’t eat this well.”

She nodded, bracing her head on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch. “You can’t fault him for wanting to spoil a loved one.”

“Yeah, but not sure I should be paying the bill,” he said dryly. “Then again, he’s taking less of a salary than I expected; I’m fairly sure he was approved for more, not that Wally would really say no to a reasonable request. Honestly, that’s what concerns me- that there’s a hidden money pit, and he’s docking his pay to hide it.”

Rose rubbed his thigh with the ball of her foot to offer comfort, making him look down at his lap for the first time. “Sorry, do you want me to-”

“You’re fine,” he cut her off, one hand settling on top of both feet, long fingers spreading out to cover them. “Really.”

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.” She wriggled her toes, admiring how the crimson paint on the nails flashed in the lighting.

He watched the movement as if hypnotized, and after a long moment, he looked up and cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. Do you… do you want to go to bed?”

The question was more tentative than she expected, but then the proverbial other shoe dropped, and heat flashed through her. “ _Yes_ ,” she said quite a bit more enthusiastically than she’d intended, but decided not to be embarrassed. “Shall we?”

Malcolm all but leapt to his feet, haphazardly gathering up his paperwork. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Once in the bedroom she let him use the loo first, which meant he had plenty of time to sit in bed and agonize over what might be about to happen while she went through her nightly routine. _Did she understand what I meant? Did I even mean that? Do I initiate? Will she? Does she expect me to make the first move, since she did on Saturday? Would she rather get things started, maintain a sense of control? How fucking long does it take to change?_

The door finally opened then, after a wait that seemed to take several lifetimes though the clock said it was less than ten minutes, and she stepped out- in a dressing gown.

“Today was a good day, wasn’t it?” she asked brightly, turning lights out as she made her way across the room to him. By the time she reached the bed only his bedside light was still on, and he watched in tense anticipation as she removed the dressing gown to reveal- a cotton nightgown.

He had no idea what that meant.

It fit her like a glove, hugging mouth-watering curves and hiding nothing, but… it was still a cotton nightgown in a soft shade of blue, sexy because of the woman who wore it was, not for any inherent reason of its own.

“Malcolm?”

“Huh?” His head jerked up to meet her eye, tearing his gaze away from how the fabric clung to her breasts. “Yeah, today was good. Sorry about… the horse thing. Are you okay?” _Good job, remind her of her fear. Moron._

She settled beneath the covers with a sigh, rolling onto her side and smiling at him. “Thank you. It’s fine, I didn’t know I would react like that. I’m sorry I made a scene, but thank you for being so… _kind_ about it.”

“And the ride back was okay?” He matched her position, close enough only scant inches separated their noses, breathing the same air. With the bed curtains drawn they were truly in their own world, safe from outside threats or interruptions. It gave the moment a sense of intimacy and possibility, and he desperately hoped it ended well, if not the way he truly wanted.

A slow smile spread across her face, one that sent heat racing through him- he’d only seen it once before, and it was right after she invited him into her bedroom. That smile had led to what was, with no exaggeration, the best night of his life. “Mhmm, it was wonderful,” she murmured, one hand reaching out to settle on his chest, warmth radiating from her palm through his thin tee-shirt. “I felt so safe and lo- comfortable with you. Being held in your arms. It was…” Her eyes flickered down, breaking their connection, cheeks flushing. “It was wonderful.”

“Well, maybe we can try it again,” he whispered back, “go out riding together. Just us.”

Rose bit her lip, and he ached to free it, to hold it safe between his own lips, to shower her in kisses and love. Her gaze met his again, searching, and she must have found what she was looking for, because her eyes brightened. “Well, actually, I had a thought,” she offered, and when his gaze ran over her, he noted with interest that the flush had started to work its way down her neck and chest.

“I’m all ears. Anything I can do to help make you more comfortable.” He tentatively set his open palm on her hip before sliding it to her back, tugging her slightly closer, hoping it was alright.

“I’m glad you said that,” she breathed, moving forward eagerly. “Because I was thinking about one thing that you said…”

“Yes?” Her face was _right there_ , and unable to resist temptation, he began to rain kisses over her forehead, nose, and cheeks, thrilled when she didn’t resist, instead leaned into his lips.

“You told me to sit up straight and stay centered.”

Malcolm paused his ministrations, fighting back a disappointed sigh at having thoroughly misread the situation. _For all the times you thought she was going to make a move, she only did once,_ he lectured himself. _Stop assuming it would become the new rule, instead of remaining an exception._ “I did.”

“Well, I think it would help if I… if I practiced.” Her face was now fully red, burning with heat, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she might be embarrassed at such an idea.

“They say practice makes perfect.”

She nodded eagerly, fingers curling into his shirt. “Exactly. That, erm, you could maybe give me tips on… on posture. And motion. Make sure I was… riding properly.”

“Of course.” His brow furrowed. _Does she really think I’d say no?_ “When?”

“How’s now?”

He was surely missing something, but didn’t have the slightest idea what. “Oh… kay?”

That coy smile was back, and she unceremoniously shoved at his chest. Surprised, he fell onto his back, only to be utterly flabbergasted when she scrambled over him, straddling his hips. “Now, be sure to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong,” she instructed.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. She’s gonna kill me._ “Right, well-” None too pleased with being used as a horse, he scowled up at her, opening his mouth to give her a piece of his mind when without any warning she crossed her arms, gripped her nightgown, and pulled the fabric over her head, leaving her astride him fully naked.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” He felt like a fool, as though he’d been clobbered on the head, and her smile fell for a moment.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I thought-” She scrambled behind her for the nightgown, one arm folding across her breasts, but he was faster, sitting up carefully without dislodging her.

“No, no, no,” he eased the fabric from her fingers, tossing it away before pulling his own tee off one-handed, the other wrapping around her waist. “I assure you, I am _happy_ to help. I must warn you though, you can’t learn everything in one- _session_. It might require several.”

Lips curling up, her tongue peeked out between her teeth. “Oh, I can take as many _lessons_ as necessary. At least, as many as you can give.”

“Oh, challenge _accepted_ ,” he murmured, hands sliding up her waist to infinitely more delightful areas. “I’ll give as many as you can take.”

In the end, he impressed them both.

* * *

**_ Tuesday _ **

It was late the next morning before they could drag themselves out of bed, and even then he couldn’t bear to be far from her, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom and watching as she put on her makeup- in her knickers and bra. _If I’ve died and this is heaven, please, no one tell me._

“Malcolm?” Her laughing tone said it wasn’t the first time she’d called him, and he tore his eyes away from her bum to meet her eye in the mirror.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What are we doing today?” She leaned forward slightly, which pushed her bum out, and he itched to run his hands over it, fantasized about- “Babe!”

Straightening and clearing his throat, he entered to sit on the toilet seat lid, tucking his hands under his thighs to prevent them from wandering. “Right. Today. I thought we could go into town, walk the high street, have lunch. Give you a taste of Scotland that’s not just from the Estate.” His intention in moving closer had been to change his view, lessen the distraction of her pert posterior, but hadn’t realized that just gave him a new, more tantalizing view of her breasts filling out the lace bra she wore. “Or we could just stay in bed.”

“Not a chance.” She applied lipstick, rubbing her lips together and pouting for the mirror. “Not after all this time spent putting on makeup. Besides, we should make an appearance- not sure I want everyone in the house to know what we’ve been up to in here.”

He shifted on his perch, positively aching to hold her. “Who cares what they think? We _are_ on our honeymoon. In fact, it would look odd if we never did.”

Turning her head she smiled at him, though she still looked amused. “Maybe tomorrow. Today, a day out exploring sounds wonderful. What’s the name of the town?”

“Village.”

“What?”

“It’s a village,” he repeated. “Bonar bridge.”

She grinned wider. “That sounds _adorable_. Can’t wait.” Pausing to lean down and kiss him, she padded out of the bathroom, hips swinging. “Let me just get dressed, and we can go.”

He followed her out, a moth to her bright flame, and cornered her by the open armoire, wrapping his arms around her waist and molding himself to her back. “Sure I can’t tempt you back to bed?” he murmured, laying kisses on her neck in a spot he now knew was sensitive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She arched into him, grinding her bum against him and tilting her head to the side to give him better access. “I believe it, but no. Let’s get some fresh air, walk around a bit, have something to eat. You can ravish me after we get back.”

“Promise?” He sucked at the soft skin, laving the spot with his tongue.

“Promise,” she gasped, clutching at his arms. “Anywhere you like. Any _way_ you like.”

With one last kiss to her neck he backed away, making her whimper. “Deal. Now hurry the fuck up, so we can go and come back already.”

He already had a few ideas of how to make good on her promise, each more tantalizing than the next.

_We’ve got the rest of our lives to fulfill them all. The only question is- where do we start?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be available on Tuesday.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and Rose trek into the nearest town- and find more than they bargained for in an old friend of Malcolm's.

**_ Tuesday, cont’d _ **

Malcolm drove them into town in the yellow roadster, flying down the road with the top down. Wind whipped her hair, and she held tightly to the seatbelt. She trusted his driving, she _did_ , but… when they finally pulled (squealed) into a spot behind the local inn, she felt like falling to the ground and kissing it.

Resisting the urge, she merely stepped out and straightened the hem of her sweater dress.

“Hungry?” her husband asked, appearing at her side and offering her his hand. “Or want to walk around first?”

“Let’s walk around,” she decided. “See what our options are.”

He nodded, whistling cheerily as they set off. He provided a running commentary the length of the main street commercial area, a combination of local and personal history. They stopped in most of the shops, and roughly half the owners knew Malcolm by name, if not at first glance. It amused her that the longer he talked, the thicker his accent grew, as it had steadily been doing since their plane left Heathrow. She stayed silent mostly, other than pleasant greetings, letting him do the majority of the chatting. It was nice, getting to see this different side of him- she liked it.

“Well, that’s it for main street,” he finally sighed, as they stopped at an intersection. On the other side of the street were more residential-looking buildings, quaint and exactly as she’d pictured for rural Scotland- they were something off a postcard. “Did you see anywhere for lunch?”

“What about that cute café-slash-newspaper office?”

Malcolm considered it, looking back towards where it was, before shrugging. “Whatever the lady wants,” he said gallantly. “Lead the way.”

* * *

They stepped inside, finding a cute little café/bakery. A dozen or so tables were arranged in rows starting at the window, leaving plenty of walking space between them and the counter. Clear cases showed off delicious-looking food; one contained baked goods, the other small meat pies, sandwiches, and the like.

“This looks good,” Malcolm approved, grinning at her, and she beamed back.

“It all smells incredible- any suggestions?”

Before he could answer a woman came out from the back to greet them, eyes going wide at the sight of Malcolm. “Malcolm Tucker, as I live and breathe.”

Head jerking up, he blinked several times in rapid succession, jaw falling open. “Sarah!”

The woman hurried out from behind the counter, and to Rose’s astonishment, he hugged her in greeting. _Since when does Malcolm hug?!_ With the exception of his daughter, and occasionally Rose, she’d never seen him hug another person – until now. Especially not as tightly as he was holding this woman.

Something distinctly like jealousy roared in Rose’s chest, and lips pressing together tightly, she tucked her hair behind her ear and waited. The woman, _Sarah_ , was around Malcolm’s age, slim and dark-haired with a kind face. A very _pretty_ kind face.

Finally they broke apart, and Malcolm kept one arm around the woman’s waist as he turned to Rose. “Sweetheart, come here,” he invited her closer, and she stepped tentatively. “This is Sarah Jane Smith, a friend of mine from uni. I had no idea you were in Scotland, let alone so close to Gallifrey,” he directed at the woman. “Sarah, this is-”

“Oh, you must be Clara,” she cut him off, gushing, opening her arms to Rose for a hug. “Oh, I remember when you were just a little thing- how you’ve grown. It’s so nice to see you.”

Rose’s expression soured further, gaze cutting towards Malcolm, who looked uncomfortable but wasn’t exactly jumping to correct her. “Actually, I’m not Clara,” she said coolly, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I’m Rose- his _wife_.”

She felt a petty glee at the rush of emotions across the other woman’s face, most of which seemed to consist of horror, confusion, and embarrassment. It wasn’t quite the first time they’d been mistaken as father and daughter, and objectively she knew it wasn’t a stretch given he was her father’s age, but it still grated at her as the other times hadn’t. Maybe because Malcolm actually knew this woman, maybe because they were now married and shagging, or maybe because she didn’t understand _why is his fucking arm still around her?!_

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” the woman said, covering her mouth with one hand. “I thought- I knew Wallace had died, sorry for your loss by the way-”

“Thank you,” Malcolm nodded.

“And I thought- well, never mind what I thought. I’m so embarrassed. Erm, lunch is on me- what can I bring you?”

Still annoyed, and a tiny bit insecure, Rose shook her head. “We already ate.”

Malcolm frowned at her. “No we-” If looks could kill he would be on the ground at that moment, and apparently recognizing that, he changed his tune quickly. “Yes, but we could do with a nibble, couldn’t we?” He gave her pleading eyes, and she realized she would have to relent, or risk their tentative new relationship.

“What’s that?” she asked instead of answering, pointing to a square in the baked goods case. It was caramel-colored on the bottom, chocolate on the top, and the first thing her eye caught on.

“It’s called millionaire’s shortbread, it’s chocolate, shortbread, and caramel. Let me grab you one, have a seat,” Sarah Jane said hurriedly, darting back behind the counter. “Sit, sit, I’ll bring you some food.”

Malcolm led her to a table by the window, and Rose didn’t miss how he picked a four-seater. “Is something wrong?” he asked quietly, putting his hand on her knee once they were seated. “I’m sorry Sarah assumed- that was a bit awkward.”

“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, knowing that he knew her well enough to not believe it, but hoping he would let it be.

“If you want to leave, we can,” he said earnestly, ducking his head to meet her eye. “I can catch up with her later- I had no idea she was still in Scotland, I haven’t seen her in _years_.”

Keeping one eye on the brunette behind the counter to ensure they wouldn’t be snuck up on, she asked the one question gnawing at her gut. “Did you date?”

“What?”

“You and her,” she jerked her head towards Sarah Jane. “Did you date?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Of course not. We were friends, but that was all. Besides, I was married with a baby, remember?”

She just nodded, and his expression softened, hand moving from her knee to cover her own, thumb wriggling her wedding ring. “And I’m married _now_ , remember? Very happily. To be perfectly honest, far more so than I was then.”

“Here we are,” Sarah Jane said, and they looked up to find her carefully picking her way through the tables to them, holding a tray that carried far more than just the shortbread she’d promised. “I know you said you ate, but I’ve never seen you turn away food, so I brought a bit of everything,” she told Malcolm, doing nothing to calm Rose’s fears- _anger_ , she was angry, not afraid, what did she have to be afraid of from an old maybe-flame of his from thirty years ago who lived less than two miles from his Estate? _Down girl,_ she tried to reassure herself. _A man who makes love to you like Malcolm did last night doesn’t turn around and go after a uni flame. I hope._

Then she wondered if it counted as _making love_ if no declarations of love were made – for all she knew, she was just the closest willing and warm body. Not that she’d seen him with any _lovers_ in a few years, or knew of any. But he hadn’t _said_ it, even if she could see it in his eyes when he looked at her- and not just when she was naked.

* * *

She spent nearly the entirety of their lunch as a third wheel, poking at the admittedly delicious food and listening as they caught up, occasionally including her in stories of their exploits. Though on the surface it was no different from lunch the previous day with Jack, it _felt_ different, as though she were intruding.

She didn’t like the feeling.

Unable to take another minute of it she excused herself to the bathroom, taking her time washing her hands and fixing her hair. She’d specifically chosen the grey, belted sweater dress for the way it hugged her figure and the ease of access, but now felt like she might’ve worn a snowsuit for all Malcolm had looked at her since they’d entered the shop.

She wasn’t happy, and she wasn’t happy being unhappy. After a few poorly-chosen boyfriends in her younger years she’d sworn to never feel this insecure and unsettled in a relationship again, and yet here she was.

Deciding she’d been in there too long she reluctantly opened the door, barely fighting back the urge to slam it once she saw Sarah Jane waiting on the other side.

“All yours,” she said stiffly, moving aside, but the woman shook her head, stepping closer.

“No, I wanted to talk to you,” she lowered her voice, glancing back over her shoulder.

_You can’t have my husband_ , Rose meant to say, but what came out was “Yes?”

“I don’t know you, but I know Malcolm,” Sarah Jane started. “And he is… _absolutely_ head over heels for you. I knew him- them- for three years in uni, and never saw him look at Missy- I hope you know her, or at least _of_ her- the way he does at you.”

“Is this going somewhere?” She folded her arms, gritting her teeth.

“Please don’t hurt him.”

Rose blinked at that. “Sorry?”

“Oh, I know he pretends to be so tough, that he doesn’t care, but he does, actually, very, _very_ much. He hasn’t always had the easiest time of it, and… you make him so happy, I don’t want to see him get hurt. He deserves better than that.”

“And, what, you think you’re the person for the job?” slipped out, and though she flinched inside, she didn’t let it show.

Sarah Jane threw her head back, laughing. “Oh, God no,” she snickered. “I mean, did I have a crush in school? Of course, everyone did. But, no. I’m just saying… please have good intentions.”

Rose stared at her, unable to decide if she was offended or touched. “I love him,” she finally settled on. “I don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want to _get_ hurt. I’ve known him- _loved_ him- for too damn long.”

Sarah Jane nodded, biting her lip. “I understand that. Er, may I ask…”

_You’ve already pried enough, what’s one more thing?_ “Sure.”

“There’s no polite way to ask this- have you met his secretary?”

“Why?”

Sarah Jane’s expression grew worried. “Never mind, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“No,” Rose caught her by the arm when she tried to leave. “Why?”

“Malcolm and I haven’t kept in touch,” she said carefully, “but his uncle and I did- not that I knew he was his uncle at the beginning, that was just coincidence- and we communicated semi-regularly. And…”

Rose’s eyes widened slightly, suddenly supremely interested in what the other woman had to say. “And?”

“Wally thought they were in love,” Sarah Jane confessed. “Or at least, that Malcolm was, but was too damn stubborn, or maybe stupid, to do anything about it. The last time I talked to him he had a plan, something ridiculous involving his will, to get them together, as a... a parting gift I think, but I have no idea what came of it. You seem perfectly nice, and you mean a lot to Malcolm, who means a lot to _me_ , and… I’m sorry if I overstepped, but I thought you might need to know.”

Rose’s jaw dropped, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Hang on, you’re saying Wally engineered something with his will so Malcolm and- and his assistant would… would get together?”

Sarah Jane nodded, looking apologetic. “I just know I’d want to know if it were me.”

Rose covered her mouth with her hand, joyful laughter bubbling up inside her. “Oh, I absolutely want to know,” she reassured the woman, suddenly seeing her in a far more favorable light. “Absolutely. Because that’s me- _I’m_ Malcolm’s assistant!”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's attitude towards Sarah Jane improves quickly. In terms of her relationship with Malcolm, she decides to go with the flow until she can debrief Clara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder, as we reach the climax/end of the story the steam factor is going to be steadily increasing as their intimacy grows.

**_ Tuesday, cont’d _ **

Malcolm checked his watch once again, leg bouncing anxiously as he waited. He wasn’t an idiot; it was clear that Rose was upset, but she wouldn’t talk to him. He also knew that Sarah’s excuse to disappear into the kitchen was just that, and he was absolutely certain that the two of them were huddled somewhere out of sight, talking- probably about him.

_Don’t you dare make Rose cry_ , he silently warned his old friend, narrowed gaze watching the hall to the toilets. The last thing he wanted was for her to be upset, especially at him. It always broke his heart to see her in tears, and he hated the idea it would be his fault.

Once the ten minute mark passed he had had enough, and throwing down his napkin, stalked across the small shop and around the corner, only to find an unexpected sight- the two women clinging to each other, sobbing with laughter, Sarah in the middle of gasping out a story he couldn’t quite make out but had Rose howling.

“What the fuck is this?”

Rather than startle them apart his bark had the opposite effect, sending them into fresh gales of laughter.

“What?”

More laughter.

“ _What_?”

Releasing her grasp on Sarah Rose staggered forward to him, practically throwing herself in his arms. “Oh, I love her,” she wheezed, sagging against him. “We should have her over for dinner.”

_What_? “Sure, if you want,” he said uncertainly, entirely lost on how they’d gotten to this point. “What _happened_?”

“She- and I- so we- and then- oh, you had to be there,” Rose sighed, nestling her head against his chest. “Did you really pose nude for an art class?”

“I needed the money,” he defended himself automatically, wrapping his arms around her and glaring over her head at Sarah, who was watching them with a smirk. “What have you been telling her?”

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing _but_ the truth,” his old friend promised, raising her hands as if in defense. “Things she needs to know.”

Malcolm harrumphed at that, entirely certain their definitions would be wildly different, hers far more embarrassing for him. “It’s all lies,” he peered down at Rose. “Don’t believe a word.”

She grinned up at him, licking her lips. “You know,” she whispered, “I _did_ study art history in uni, and toyed with being an artist myself. It seems only fair that you pose nude for me.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, he tilted his head in thought. “I’ve done some sketches myself, so I’ll make you a deal- you pose for me, I’ll pose for you.”

“Deal,” she didn’t hesitate. “Oooh, don’t you have a really old car? Other than Bessie, I mean?”

“We have a 1953 Rolls Royce?”

Her lips curled up. “You know that scene in Titanic?”

He shivered in delight at the idea, already able to see it playing out in delicious ways. “Fuck yes.”

And just like that, things between them were fine.

* * *

Soon enough they were on their way, with tentative plans for Sarah Jane to join them for dinner on Thursday. Malcolm drove once again, but slower this time, and Rose was all too happy to put her hand in his when he offered it.

“I’m sorry about Sarah,” he said somewhat tentatively. “If she hurt you, or embarrassed you.”

Having been watching the water on their left, she had to turn her head to face him. “It’s okay,” she decided after a moment of consideration. “Yes, in the beginning, it was a bit weird, and I felt left out, but… in the end she was lovely.” She debated silently about telling him what Sarah Jane had said in regards to Wallace’s ‘plans’, but settled against it. She could always tell him later, and things just felt too _fragile_ at the moment. If it wasn’t love for him, she didn’t want to tip her hand – if all he wanted was a bit of fun, to lean into the ‘honeymooners’ idea, well… that was fine. She’d take what she could get, enjoy the here and now, and worry about the future later.

Malcolm squeezed her hand, raising it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It was nice to catch up with her, but that’s no excuse for ignoring you. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I was just surprised,” she turned further into him, taking advantage of the bench seat to curl into his side. “And a little put off by her thinking I was Clara.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times before settling for a shrug. “There’s too many possible answers to that that would now be weird to say after last night,” he admitted. “I’m going to leave it alone, but I want you to know I had good comebacks.”

Rose glanced out the windshield, noting they were on a relatively straight patch at the moment with no cars to be seen. Taking a chance, she moved closer and purred in his ear, “I’m sure you’d have given it to me _good_.” To highlight her point, she caught his earlobe gently between her teeth, free hand settling on his lap.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Malcolm gasped, veering sharply in response before getting the car back under control. By the time he had she was back on her side of the bench, sitting prim and proper and innocent as could be. “What was that?!”

She just laughed, leaning back against the seat and stretching her legs out in front of her.

* * *

Malcolm pulled into the driveway faster than necessary, tires squealing slightly as he braked and threw it into park. Practically jumping out of the car he moved around to Rose’s door to open it for her, helping her down a bit more brusquely than wise- but her half-laugh half-gasp of his name told him he was forgiven. Leaving the keys in the ignition for the footman to deal with, he hurried her into the house, ignoring her giggled protests.

“What’s the rush?” she laughed, as he guided her expertly through the house, calling on half-forgotten knowledge from misspent summers long past. “Malcolm.”

“In here.” _Here_ was a small broom closet under the stairs, just barely big enough for them to stand up in, provided they stayed close. He backed her against the door, leaning down to hover his lips over hers. “Rose.”

“Malcolm.”

“Say yes,” he breathed, one hand skimming down her waist to her knee, applying a light pressure there in encouragement. “Oh, fuck, please say yes.”

She giggled, leaning back against the door, moving her feet apart before raising her knee to hook over his hip. “We’ll have to be quiet.”

He moved with her, pressing himself against her and groaning, burying his face in her neck to lay wet kisses there. “That’s not a yes.” He wanted her, desperately, but more than that he wanted _her_ to want _him_.

“Ah.” Rose wrapped her arms around him, bumping her hips up against him once, twice, three times, drawing a wretched moan from him. “Well, then- _yes_.”

* * *

Biting her lip, Rose shifted on the couch, rubbing her thighs together. She’d finally reached the part in her romance novel where the heroine gave into her desire for the love interest, and it was exceptionally steamy, especially after her own encounter that afternoon in the hall closet.

“Alright?” Malcolm asked, and she peeked over the top of the book to find him watching her.

“Mhmm.” Putting her book aside, she sat up and turned, sitting flush next to him, hip to hip. “What’cha doing?”

He gestured down towards the papers scattered on the table. “Reviewing the paperwork still. This is about the rents- I don’t want to bore you.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He raised his eyebrow, looking at her skeptically. “You want to hear about rent and tenants?”

“You said I would be handling some of the management stuff as _Lady Gallifrey_ ,” she reminded him. “I should know about it- I _want_ to know about it. I want you to teach me.”

“It’s not the most interesting thing in the world.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, grinning. “Yeah, but it’s funny- many things are infinitely more interesting when told in a sexy Scottish accent.”

“You think my accent’s sexy?” He sounded genuinely surprised, and she laughed out loud.

“I think everything’s sexy about you – including your accent. Body. _Mind_. Now come on, teach me.”

“Alright.” Not looking convinced of her interest, he nonetheless played along, rifling through his paperwork for a moment before pulling out a piece of paper that looked like a summary. “So, here’s how this works. The property’s about four thousand acres-”

* * *

Taking the time to pamper herself before bed, it was the first time Rose really had by herself to consider everything that had happened over the past few days. From successfully seducing Malcolm on Saturday, arriving in Scotland on Sunday, yesterday’s horseback riding and “riding lessons”, to this afternoon’s outing… it had been a virtual whirlwind, and as the dust metaphorically settled around her as she washed her hair, she found herself standing in a fog, uncertain of the safest path ahead.

That wasn’t strictly true – the safest path ahead was to have her things moved to the other room, stop shagging Malcolm, and wait for the five years to pass.

That wasn’t what she wanted, though.

_Okay, what’s relatively safe but let’s us keep having sex?_

If she were honest with herself, she wanted it all. A real marriage, filled with love and laughter and happiness and _babies_ (and sex). And she wanted it with Malcolm – _only_ Malcolm. The only problem was, she had no idea what he wanted, and what she might have to sacrifice for them to find a happy compromise. Realistically, though, she knew what she would be willing to give up – children. It would hurt, and she would have to live vicariously through Clara, but that was something she’d rather not have with him than have with someone else.

At the end of the day, it came down to love – did he love her as she did him? She couldn’t tell, and he hadn’t said. He _acted_ like he did, but that had all started after the Gala, and she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t a function of their bedroom activities. Did the new intimacy between them free him to show her how he felt, or was he acting that way to keep her in his bed?

She had no idea.

As soon as she was dry she reached for her mobile, texting Clara _I need to talk to you_. Picking up the blow dryer, she was almost finished by the time she got a response, but it wasn’t what she wanted.

_We’re doing an overnight field trip in a museum, I can’t get away. Is tomorrow afternoon okay?_

_Shit._ Biting her lip, Rose shrugged. _What harm could one more night do?_ she thought pessimistically. At least if she didn’t confront him, she couldn’t be rejected, and the sex _was_ incredible. _Fine_ , she replied, _let me know the second you’re free._

Once she was ready except for her pajamas, she examined her options with her hands on her hips. She’d brought two sets in, unable to choose, and all of her ruminating hadn’t helped a lick. One was a simple cotton nightgown, the same from the night before that he’d seemed to like well enough, while the other was overtly sexy, a red satin lined with lace that screamed _fuck me_ – she’d bought it on sale a few days after Valentine’s Day, after all.

“Rose? Everything okay?” Malcolm knocked on the door, startling her. “You’re not upset about Sarah, are you?”

“No, I’m okay,” she called back. “Just a moment.”

Closing her eyes she reached forward, fingers closing around fabric – satin.

_Alright, then._

Pulling it on over her head and smoothing it down, she had to admit she did look good in it. Skipping the matching knickers, she pulled on the robe that went with it instead, tying it tightly before picking up her discarded options and returning to the bedroom.

“So, Jack arranged for us to go to the distillery tomorrow,” Malcolm said as soon as she opened the door.

“That sounds nice,” she replied, dumping her armful of clothes on top of the dresser to deal with tomorrow. “Do we get a sample?”

He started to laugh, stopping abruptly when she pulled off the dressing gown and climbed into bed. “Uh, yep,” he swallowed hard, eyes firmly south of hers. “Of course. Samples… samples are good.” His gaze slowly rose to meet her own, and he looked delightfully punch-drunk at the sight of her. “Tired?”

She slid down on the mattress, turning to face him and propping herself up on her elbow. “Nope,” she popped the p, grinning. “Not yet. Got any suggestions of things to do that’ll tire me out?”

She shrieked with laughter when he pounced on her just as she’d hoped, fingers digging into her sides as he started a tickle war.

It was fair to say by the end, they’d both won.

Several times.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Malcolm go for a private tour of the distillery from the owner, who's an old friend of Malcolm's (and ours). It's Malcolm who is in for some lessons, though, as revelations come to light.

**_ Wednesday _ **

Malcolm drove them along back roads to the distillery. Curled up next to him, Rose watched the land fly past, rolling hills she hadn’t expected of the Highlands but had quickly grown to love. He wasn’t speeding nearly as much as he had the day before, today driving with one hand on the wheel, the other on Rose’s knee.

“I expected more mountains,” she said apropos of nothing, glancing over at Malcolm. “There aren’t as many as I thought.”

“Depends on where you are.” He turned, heading for several low buildings not too far ahead. “Generally speaking the mountains are north and west. The further east, the lower the elevation.”

“Where’s Ben… Neville?”

“Nevis. South, by several hours. Roughly halfway between Inverness and Glasgow. About… a hundred miles or so from here? It’s beautiful down there. You know those mountains in that show you like? That’s Glencoe, which is just south of Ben Nevis.”

Rose’s eyes widened, turning to him. “From Outlander? Really?”

Pulling into a spot and parking, he grinned at her. “You didn’t know they actually filmed up here? What, thought it was all movie magic? No, that’s Scotland. And what’s more- speaking of pop culture filming locations…”

“Yeah?” They climbed out, and he led her towards the entrance to the tasting room.

“Glenfinnan Viaduct is… oh, twenty miles? Sounds a bit far, but it’s really right there, on the other side of the loch. From Ben Nevis, not up here.” He laughed at her scrunched up nose and tilted head. “The curved viaduct, from Harry Potter. Of course it’s been famous for long before that- the glamorous shot of the Jacobite train going around the curve. Spectacular.”

She groaned softly. “I suppose there’s no chance of us getting down there, huh?”

Malcolm let her walk through the door first, and she was so taken with the warm, bright room and the scent of whisky she almost missed his answer. “Perhaps not this trip, but we can always come back.”

Perking back up, she went up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, breathing deeply. His aftershave was almost drowned out by the competing distillery aromas, but she was still able to find it, and it made her belly clench. His arm around her back tightened, pulling her closer, but a delighted call of his name made them break apart.

“Jamie!” Malcolm replied with delight, warmly embracing the man as he reached them. “It’s good to see you.”

“Aye, and you,” the man replied in kind, before bowing slightly. “Lord Gallifrey.”

“Stop that,” Malcolm waved impatiently, glancing around. “Don’t start trouble.” Returning his arm to around Rose’s waist, he gently nudged her forward. “Jamie, this is Rose- my wife. Rose, this is James McCrimmon, he owns and runs the Gallifrey Distillery.”

Rose beamed, more in response to Malcolm calling her his wife than anything else, but reached out to shake the man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure. I’m a big fan of your product – it’s incredible.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he smiled back, taking Rose’s hand and raising it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “It is an honor.”

She flushed in response. _If one Scot flirting is good, two must be better._ He was good looking, roughly thirty, tall and well built without being overbearing, and he was wearing a kilt that showed off toned thighs and calves. _I wonder if I can get Malcolm to wear one of those. He has to own one, right?_ “I’m very interested in learning about your process, and what you do here.”

“Aye, a private tour, guided by yours truly. And a tasting. Are you ready to begin?”

They nodded eagerly in response, sharing excited smiles.

_ This _ would no doubt be the highlight of their trip – at least, of experiences outside the bedroom.  _Or the hall closet._

She couldn’t wait.

* * *

Malcolm listened with one ear during the tour, lost in his thoughts. It hadn’t taken him long to notice Jamie and Rose flirting. After knowing her for so long he knew she wasn’t flirting with intent, that it was more her natural ability to connect with people, and Jamie had always been a flirt, but it had led him down a dark path to a somewhat disturbing revelation – they’d never kissed.

At least, not for the sake of kissing, or in greeting or parting- the only time their lips had met in the half-week ( _has it really only been four days?)_ since they first spent the night together was either immediately before, during, or after sex. No goodnight kisses, no good morning kisses, nothing.

This had sent his world spinning, as he reconsidered everything that had happened between them – and more importantly, what _hadn’t_ , namely those three little words that meant everything. He’d never brought up their conversation from Sunday night, and neither had she, and he was seeing it all in a new light now, doubting everything. _What if she doesn’t love me?_ He watched her peek into a still before throwing him a bright smile, leading him by their joined hands as she chattered with Jamie, the two so lost in conversation they didn’t notice his lack of reaction.

_ What if she knows I love her but doesn’t feel the same, but won’t say so? _ That idea made him feel even worse, as doubt chewed away at the happiness in his soul. He didn’t want her to humor him- if she didn’t want a relationship she should just _say_ so. After eight years of knowing each other, working side by side day in and day out, didn’t she know him well enough to know he would put her wants above his own?

As they stepped out into the sunshine, heading back to the tasting room for their samples, he concluded with a heavy heart,  _We need to talk._

Consequences be damned.

* * *

Rose forced her smile wider, nodding along to Jamie’s explanations, her mind a million miles away- and directly next to her, focused solely on Malcolm. Almost as soon as the tour had started he’d shut down, and the longer it went on the more worried she grew. As far as she could tell nothing had _happened_ , nothing to trigger this. It had just… _started._

Accepting the small sample of whisky she took a sip, unable to focus on the taste (incredible, as always), instead watching Malcolm stare blankly at the proffered little cup for a long moment before accepting it, then throwing it back like a shot.

Jamie was frowning at him as well, gaze flickering to Rose who half-shrugged.

“Well, thank you for this, but we do need to be getting back to the house,” she said graciously; the other man clearly recognized the lie, but was kind enough to nod and play along anyway.

“Aye, I’m sure there’s much to do. Thank you for taking the time to visit us,” he replied, guiding them back to the entrance. “I’ve already shipped another case to London for you, Mal, just ring me when you want the next.”

“Oh!” Rose stopped dead, fumbling in her purse for the notecard she had prepared. “Can you ship a few bottles of your best- absolute top of the line- to this address?” She handed the card over. “And can you send a bill up to the house?”

Jamie accepted it without hesitation, but shook his head. “No need to bill-”

“No, I insist,” she said firmly. “This place is lovely, and- just do it. That’s an order. Or a decree. Or whatever it is you’re supposed to obey. Alright? Please.”

He pursed his lips in thought, glancing between them, but Rose just glared in response and Malcolm- Malcolm stared off into space, looking thoroughly unhappy. “Aye, I’ll do it, but I reserve the right not to cash the cheque. Fair enough?”

“Fine,” Rose nodded. “Top shelf, right? That’s for my Dad.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jamie sighed, smiling wryly. “Thank you for your visit, it was lovely to meet you.”

With a last, tight smile, she nodded. “Thank you!”

Once they were outside she let the smile fall, casting a worried look at her husband.

_ What happened? _

* * *

“-At which point I decided what the hell, I’d hire the flamingos, they need the jobs, and we need new fishermen. The unicorn wasn’t happy, but I said ‘Horny, be welcoming, I still need you to fertilize the garden’. Malcolm, are you listening to me?”

He wasn’t. Gaze fixed firmly on a spot on the wall roughly six inches to the left of Jack’s head, Malcolm stared ahead without seeing, still utterly lost in his thoughts. The longer he spent scouring his memory for any proof of Rose’s love, the less he found, each precious memory reexamined and found lacking until he was left with nothing but a large, gaping wound in his chest where his heart had once resided.

“Huh?”

His cousin sighed, tossing the paperwork he held onto the desk and leaning back. “What’s wrong?”

They were in Jack’s office, going over the budget for the last few years and adjusting the upcoming ones- or at least, that was the meeting’s purpose. He hadn’t heard a word of it, though.

Not bothering to play dumb, Malcolm merely groaned and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he hung his head. “Do you think Rose is in love with me?”

“Your _wife_? Yes. What kind of bullshit question is that?”

“Forget that she’s my wife, just in general- do you think she’s in love with me?”

He waited for an answer that didn’t come, eventually raising his head to find Jack staring at him in incredulous disbelief.

“Mal, what in the name of _fuck_ is going on? What are you asking? _Why_?”

He groaned, slumping back on the sofa. “If I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room.”

“Deal.”

“That includes Ianto.”

His cousin made an exasperated sound. “Obviously. Would you just tell me?”

“Wallace changed his will, and said that I can only inherit the property after his death… if Rose and I got married. That if we didn’t, everything would go to the government, and the Foundation would have to close. So… we got married. Only, I’m absolutely arse over teakettle for her, and have no idea if she feels the same,” he explained sadly to his folded hands, unable to meet Jack’s eye, not wanting to see the disgust or pity he would likely find there.

Silence reigned for a long moment, before a strangled noise came from the other side of the room. Looking up, he found Jack clutching his stomach, bent in double and softly wheezing.

“Jack?”

“You numpty,” he gasped. “You utter _bampot_. How could you fall for that?”

Malcolm blinked, jaw dropping slightly as he realized the other man was laughing. “What’re you on about?”

Something about his expression apparently _broke_ Jack, for he fell out of his chair and began rolling on the floor holding his stomach, howling in earnest.

“Jack. _Jack_. Jack!”

Jack utterly ignored him, too wrapped up in his laughing fit to pay him any attention until Malcolm nudged him in the side with his foot – hard.

“Ow,” Jack wheezed, sitting up. “You don’t have to _kick_ me.”

“Well, you weren’t stopping on your own,” he grumped. “Now, get up and explain yourself.”

He did, taking his grand old time, still snorting and snickering as he got himself situated again. “Right, you realize that can’t be legal, to start.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you can leave a title to the government like that,” Jack chortled. “Now, maybe if he had disinherited you if you didn’t marry her, that might be legal, but then it would pass to me. He can’t just skip us. I think you’ve been punked.”

Malcolm shook his head in denial. “No, I talked to his lawyer-”

“Listen to me. How could he skip me? _Why_ would he skip me?”

“To punish me?”

Jack gave him a look. “How would that be a punishment, exactly? You haven’t been here in what, fifteen years? Sure, you manage the Foundation and see to the Townhouse, but that’s not really the Estate. Purely from a practical side, _I_ should be the Lord. Now, I’m not begrudging you that, and am happy to serve as your proxy- and heir- but why would he punish both of us? What did I do?”

He had several good points, but Malcolm was still unsure, finding it hard to believe Wallace would use his _will_ to lie to or trick him. “I suppose we’ll never know.”

“Eh…” Leaning to the side, Jack opened a drawer and pulled out a sealed letter. “Here. I wasn’t supposed to give it to you until after you two sorted out your shit, but…”

He handed it over, and Malcolm accepted it gingerly, noting his uncle’s handwriting on it.

“What does it say?”

“It’s sealed,” Jack shrugged, before smirking at Malcolm’s skeptical expression. “Just… read it.”

_ Oh, boy. Wally, what did you do? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Classic friend! I hope you all enjoy Jamie's cameo as much as you did Sarah Jane, Bessie, and the Brig :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be up on Saturday; we're drawing to a close, but there's plenty still to come.
> 
> Special shout out to Harry Potter and/or Outlander fans. Everything mentioned here (geography-wise) is really cool to see in person :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm reads Wallace's letter, and overhears a conversation between Rose and Clara, both of which serve to make everything clear to him.
> 
> The only question is, how does he share this revelation with Rose?

**_ Wednesday, cont’d _ **

Hands in his pockets, Malcolm wandered his way through the house, ruminating on the letter Wally had left him. In no uncertain terms it had laid out the entire plan, his uncle’s intention behind it, and what was expected of him going forward.

He wanted to be mad- he wanted to rage and scream, to curse Wallace for his meddling, to say _to hell with it all_ and leave, never to return. Unfortunately, the last paragraph removed the righteous cause of his anger, leaving him feeling empty, small, and ultimately sad.

> _At the end of it all, you are the son I never had. Watching you grow and flourish, as a father and a man, has been one of my greatest joys. Your selflessness knows no bounds, nor does your capacity for love. I recognize that my methods are unorthodox, but I trust you know my intentions are pure. You and Rose belong together in every sense of the concept, but I know your heart, your fears. She does love you, you fool, and all the world can see it – except for you. Though, if you’re reading this, you do now. I would not have gone to these lengths if you had only forgiven yourself for the past, and allowed your future to begin._
> 
> _Above all else, be happy – you have a second chance at love, which not all do. Use it well. Treasure her always, and think of me from time to time._
> 
> _Wallace_
> 
> _P.S. I expect you to name your first son ‘Wallace’, though I’ll forgive you if it’s a middle name._

Without consciously heading there, he found himself standing outside the art gallery. His great-grandfather had been an art collector, and most of his acquisitions still hung as he’d arranged, in and amongst family portraits.

_I suppose we’ll have to have our portraits done as Lord and Lady_ , Malcolm mused, standing in the hallway with his hand on the doorknob, not quite ready to enter. He hadn’t meant to go there, but he knew Rose was inside, and had been drawn to her like a moth to the flame. _I owe her an explanation for my attitude today._

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, equally disappointed and relieved she wasn’t in the first room. Disappointed because he longed to be next to her always, and relieved to have a few more moments to compose himself, uncertain of what he would say or do when he found her. Crossing the room in long strides, he headed for the door that connected to the second room, finding it slightly ajar and hearing Rose’s voice from the other side.

He paused to be sure he wasn’t interrupting, heart dropping at Rose’s words.

“But that’s just _it_ , Clar, I _don’t_ know. He’s been so weird since we got here. I have no idea what he’s feeling. I mean, he _acts_ like we’re… you know… in some ways, and in others, nothing’s changed except now we have sex!” She paused, and could hear the eyeroll in her sigh. “You’re my best friend and I’m in crisis. You can deal with me talking about shagging your father for one conversation. If nothing else, you _owe_ me for everything I had to hear at uni- you were _not_ as quiet as you thought you were.”

He could hear his daughter’s squawk from where he was, though not any words.

“Yes, I love him, but I can’t _tell_ him,” Rose said, with the impatient air of someone tired of repeating herself, making his heart leap. “What if he doesn’t? I _did_ make the first move! I agreed to marry him, I invited him into my bedroom under the most obvious ruse known to man- I don’t know how to make it more obvious without saying the words! He needs- _I_ need him to say it first. I can’t. I just- I _can’t_.”

Heart pounding, a wide smile on his face, Malcolm backed out of the room; he’d heard all he needed to.

Now it was time to plan.

* * *

**_ Thursday _ **

“Rose,” he murmured, brushing her face out of her hair. “Time to wake up.”

She whimpered, turning to face into the pillow, making him laugh softly.

“Wake up, sweetheart.” Leveraging himself up he rained kisses over her hair, the only part of her accessible. “I have a surprise for you.” It had been a solid twelve hours since she said she loved him (though not _to_ him), and he was still in awe of that fact. They loved each other, truly, and it was time for her to know as well.

“Nooooo,” she whined. “Shag later, sleep now.”

Malcolm snorted. “It’s not that, it’s a real surprise. C’mon, you’ll miss it.”

“Fuck you.”

It may have been a result of his unbridled joy and love, or maybe his lack of sleep, but he found her stubbornness in this moment absolutely adorable. “I promise it’s worth getting up for, my love,” he told her.

That got him a reaction; face turning slightly, one eye opened to peer up at him suspiciously. He just smiled in response, and after a moment, she groaned, rolled over to her back, and sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. “Do I need to change?”

“Yes, but loungewear is fine. You’re changing for temperature only,” he said, hurrying around to her side to help her out of bed. “I already laid things out for you.”

With an unimpressed expression, equal parts sleepy and mutinous, she did as he asked, pulling her nightgown over her head without any hesitation. He focused on helping her find her way through the sweatpants and hoodie; there would be time for ogling later, once she Knew. Kneeling, he guided her feet into her Uggs, before standing and offering her his hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked, a little more awake now- enough to be suspicious, apparently. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Just… trust me.”

“Fine,” she said after a moment. “But I’m gonna need tea.”

He just smiled, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “I know.”

* * *

Still yawning, Rose curled around the thermos he’d brought, leaning into his side as he drove down the dark road.

They hadn’t gone too far when he turned off, on the side with the water, and parked the car.

“What’re we doing here?” She trusted him absolutely, but everything about the situation seemed right out of a true crime show episode.

Perhaps sensing her hesitation, he smiled kindly down at her. “We’re going to watch the sunrise out over the Sea.”

“The Sea?” They got out, and he held her hand, guiding her down the path to the water while carrying a picnic basket.

“North Sea- we’re only about 14 miles from the coast. By the time we get down there, the sun will be almost ready.”

She stopped walking, peering up into his face in the dark. “You’re taking me out to the North Sea to watch the _sunrise_.”

“Yes.” His tone shifted, coming across unsure as he asked, “Is that okay?”

Surging up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips firmly against his for a fleeting moment, grateful for the dark as her cheeks flushed. “Very much so. Now, lead on.”

The dock came into view then, a solitary light pole illuminating the area, and she gasped at seeing the boat tied up. “Is that a _yacht_?” For reasons unknown she’d been expecting something small, perhaps a dinky little rowboat, though in hindsight that seemed absurd to travel fifteen miles out to sea in.

“Technically it’s a ‘cabin cruiser’. Difference is in the size.”

“That’s what she said.”

He shot her an amused glance as they stepped carefully onto the dock. “This is the cleverly-named _Gallifrey II._ It’s a good twenty years old, but still in good condition. Jack takes her out every so often, oversees her maintenance. I promise it’s safe.”

Relatively-speaking she knew it wasn’t particularly large, but it had a little deck at the back, and appeared to have an indoor section. It looked like something she’d seen on telly, showing marinas throughout the world. It didn’t show it’s age, looking bright and clean, though if Jack was using it to romance his boyfriend, she would expect nothing less.

“Right,” Malcolm said brusquely, leaning over the side to put the basket on out of the way, “ready?”

A little nervous, but willing to trust him, she let her tongue peek out from between her teeth. “Depends. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

He just laughed, offering her his hand.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

* * *

Rose burrowed further into the woven blanket, moving the edge of it to cover her nose. It was _cold_ , sailing out to sea in the dark. Malcolm was at the helm, steering the boat, and she’d chosen to stay with him, perched on the small seating area on top of the boat, right behind him. She could barely see him, mostly just an outline, but she still felt safe and cozy despite the temperature. Her better judgement was telling her to go down into the cabin out of the cold, but she resisted the urge, choosing instead to stay with her husband, watching the lights along the coast zip by.

Her nerves were doing their best to keep her warm though, as she wondered what this all meant. The idea of it was certainly romantic, and she was hoping for a confession of love, something to put her fears to rest and allow her heart to be free, but she was trying to temper those hopes so she wouldn’t be disappointed if she was wrong.

She wanted to be right.

“Just another minute or so,” Malcolm called behind him as the coast seemed to curve. “I want to make sure we’re out of the way, but with no view obstructions.”

“Okay,” she shouted back, unsure if he could hear her. Other boats were in the waters now, ones like theirs, fishing boats, and ferries all starting their day early as well. She could just hear shouts and calls in the distance, see people greeting each other as if they were passing on the street instead of at sea. She hadn’t been on the boat all that long, but already she could picture them taking sailing trips, exploring the world by sea, maybe with a few sleepy children pressed up against her, waiting for the sun to rise as they did now.

She liked the image.

The noise of the engine abruptly cut, dropping to almost nothing, as Malcolm made his way back to her. “Here’s as good a spot as any, I think,” he said, picking up the basket and setting it on the seat next to her. “Budge up, let me behind you.”

They shifted around, eventually settling with him in the corner, Rose snug up to his front and the blanket encircling both of them. His arms were tight around her waist, holding her close, and she felt… _loved_. The words were on the tip of her tongue when he inhaled sharply.

“Look.”

She followed his fingers to a spot where the darkness seemed to be lightening. Slowly the sun rose as they sipped at their tea, Rose relaxing back into his comfortable chest and strong grip. _This is heaven._ Those three words hovered on the tip of her tongue; so strong was the urge she said _nothing_ lest they slip out of their own free will.

It didn’t take long for the sun to clear the horizon, bathing everything in beautiful hues of pink and orange, so spectacular it belonged on a postcard.

“What did you think?” Malcolm murmured in her ear, once the best of it was over. “Worth getting up?”

She turned so she could see him, careful to not disturb their nest of blankets too much and let the cold air in. “Oh, it was _incredible_. Thank you. I just- there are no words.” That was a lie; there were three, but she didn’t dare risk ruining the moment.

Malcolm smiled back, but it faded quickly as his eyes searched hers, making her heart pound in anticipation.

_Say it_ , her heart whispered to him. _Tell me, so I can tell you, and we can be happy forever. Say it. Please._

“Rose…”

_Here it is!_

“We need to talk.”

_What?_


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation - and resolution of that cliffhanger ;)

**_ Thursday, cont’d _ **

“We need to talk.”

Malcolm realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and was already tightening his arms around her as her eyes went wide. “No, no, sorry- poor choice of words. I mean, we do, but- good talk. I promise.”

Rose relaxed against him, though a bit of stiffness remained in her posture. “Okay.”

“I love you.” He’d had a plan, a carefully written speech memorized, but in that moment, none of it mattered. He’d wanted to build up to it, to give her all the reasons before making his declaration, but that wasn’t important. They had the rest of their lives to say why, and how, and when- what was priority, here and now, was that she didn’t go a second longer without _knowing_ , fully and completely, how she owned his heart. “I love you. I’m _in_ love with you, and have been for quite some time now. All I am is yours. I’m in love with you.”

He waited with bated breath as she stared at him, expression blank, eyes and mouth wide open, for long enough that he started to doubt his surety of her response.

“You… _what_?” she finally whispered. “I- you- what? I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“I love you,” he said simply. “Head over heels, arse over teakettle, however you want to put it… Completely in love with you.”

She drew several shallow, shuddering breaths, shaking her head. “Is this for real? If this is a joke, or a prank, or-”

“Rose.” Freeing his hands from the blankets, he cupped her face, one thumb rubbing gently at her cheek. “This is… as real as it gets. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Do you… do you at all feel the same?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and then slowly, she began to nod. “Of _course_ I do, you moron,” she breathed. “I love you too. I love you so much, have for ages. Do you really?”

“More than I knew was possible.” Tears pricked at his own eyes, and he beamed at her in joy. “Do you truly?”

“I think that’s been established,” she laughed, a glorious sound that made his heart take flight. “This is the part where you kiss me.”

He wasted no time in following her orders, pressing his lips against hers. She met him halfway, and an amazing kiss was elevated to spectacular when her lips parted, tongue slipping out to brush against his as he opened his own. It was somewhat wet, from their tears and the spray from the sea, but it was still perfect, the most wonderful kiss he’d ever experienced.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing her.

* * *

Jack greeted them at the front door as soon as they walked in. He was smirking, which only grew when he looked them over and noticed their entwined hands and how close they stood. “How was the sunrise?” he asked innocently.

“Brilliant, thank you,” Malcolm replied, smiling widely as Rose blushed and giggled, pressing closer to his side, making his heart leap with joy. “Perfect morning.”

“I see that.” He turned to Rose. “ _Satisfactory_ morning?” His bawdy wink made it clear what he thought had happened, and though he was wrong, his _wife_ didn’t give him any indication that he was wrong.

“Probably the best of my life,” Rose said, as if just thinking about it for the first time, pursing her lips. “I don’t know what was special about it, but the tea was _incredible_.”

She grinned as he looked between her and Malcolm, eyes narrowing in consideration. “Fine, keep your secrets,” he decided. “I’ll get the truth out of you sooner or later. For now, will you be wanting a proper breakfast?”

While the thought of food was appealing, he’d rather have a nap, but was willing to let Rose lead, looking down at her and raising his eyebrows in expectation.

Opening her mouth to respond, she didn’t get a single word out before a giant yawn ripped it’s way free. “Oh!” she yelped, belatedly covering her mouth as a second, slightly smaller one followed the first. “Sorry. Maybe a kip, first? You did wake me up at the arse-cr- really early this morning,” she changed direction at the last moment, making both men grin. “Then brunch, closer to noon?”

“I agree,” Malcolm said, relieved. “I’m exhausted. Jack, you’ll tell Ianto we expect a full brunch spread at… oh, let’s say half eleven?”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” his cousin snapped off a mocking salute. “Shall we serve you in bed if you’re not down?” Jack’s tone was innocent – _too_ innocent.

“Fuck no.” Without another word Malcolm started for the stairs, tugging Rose along by their joined hands. “Do _not_ disturb us.”

Jack’s laughter followed them all the way to their room.

* * *

Rose closed the door behind them fighting back another yawn- she hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of the last one. “So…” she started hesitantly, leaning back against the door as she watched him cross to the bed, stripping on the way. “Now what?”

It wasn’t that she was necessarily _opposed_ to consummating their love, but… she really _did_ want a nap. Napping naked, snuggled together? _Sure._ Maybe starting something once they wake up, all warm and sleepy and comfortable? _Sounds great._ But first… _sleep_. But she also didn’t want to shut him down if he wanted a little loving before their kip. Didn’t seem very… wife-y.

“Sleep,” he groaned, flopping facedown on what had quickly become his side, wearing only his pants. “Not just a ‘nap’ – I’m talking _hours_.”

The slight tension in her chest eased, even though she felt a little guilty over it. “Sounds perfect.” She padded over to her side of the bed, toeing off her trainers and efficiently stripping off everything else, leaving them piled on the floor. She hesitated over removing her knickers, before shrugging and slipping them down her legs. It was worth it for the look in his face alone, as he watched her climb into bed. She definitely had his interest, and as she slid down into the sheets, he reached for her, palm warm on her bare hip, a delighted look on his face.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

Rose grinned, snuggling into him and pressing their bare chests together. “What’cha gonna do about it?” she challenged him, smiling coyly. “Spank me?”

He groaned, a deep and guttural thing that would’ve made her knickers wet if she were still wearing them; instead, she just smiled wider, hooking her knee over his hip. “Aye, if you want,” he eventually managed, voice low and dark and deliciously Scottish. “But first, sleep, temptress.”

Rose sighed dramatically, rolling onto her back and stretching an arm above her head. “If you insist,” she shrugged one shoulder, teasing. “We’ll play later.”

“Fucking right we will.”

Rolling to her other side, back to him, she scooted backwards until they were pressed together, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to anchor her to him.

“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her head softly.

She fell asleep smiling.

* * *

They were halfway through brunch when Malcolm’s mobile chirped. Setting down his fork and grabbing the mobile instead of letting go of Rose’s hand, he fumbled with it until the screen unlocked.

“Everything alright?” Rose asked, shoving a forkful of beans in her mouth.

Malcolm’s blood ran cold, his visions of a romantic evening with her going up in smoke. “Uh…” Clearing his throat, he glanced up at her apologetically. “Apparently we invited Sarah round for dinner tonight.”

She stopped chewing, staring back at him for a long moment before swallowing. “Oh. Okay. That should be nice.”

“Maybe I should reschedule,” he fussed. “I mean, today… is special. Should be just us. Right?”

Rose set down her fork, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand as she watched him contemplatively. He could see her mind working, and leaned towards her, eager to hear her thoughts. He was always fascinated by her, by the way her mind worked, the way she saw the world so differently from how he did. “No,” she finally said. “Don’t reschedule- let her come for dinner. It’ll be nice to talk to her- especially now that things are so clear between _us_. We should have Jack, and perhaps Ianto join us as well. We have… the _rest_ of our lives to celebrate us privately. Let’s share our happiness tonight. What do you think?”

Malcolm smiled, delighted and relieved by her answer. “I agree, but you come first. I want _you_ to be happy. And I suggest you find a different way to phrase it when you invite Jack, because otherwise he might think you’re inviting him to an orgy.”

“I dunno, he’s pretty fit…” she teased, biting her lip, eyes bright with repressed laughter. “With the right amount of tequila, I could _probably_ be talked into that.”

“Rose!”

She burst into giggles. “I’m kidding,” she gasped, “but you should see your face.”

“ _Don’t_ joke about that – Jack would absolutely try that,” he said firmly. “And I’m not sharing you. Sorry.”

Her expression softened, and she stood up, coming around behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning down and hugging him. “You’re the only one for me,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “I’m plenty satisfied with you.”

“Good.” He turned his head, meeting her lips in a soft kiss. “So, we’ll invite them to dinner.”

She kissed him again, firmer this time, tongue flicking against his, wiping everything from existence but her and him and their love. “Maybe see if tomorrow will work instead?”

 _Huh?_ He had to fight to open his eyes, staring blankly as he waited for the memory of their conversation to return, finally smiling when it did. “You’re _brilliant_.”

* * *

Malcolm let his eyes drift closed, unable to remember the last time he had been so relaxed. After a private, romantic dinner they’d adjourned to the library as they did every night, only for the first time, they’d ended up sprawled across the sofa, cuddled together. With Rose resting half on his chest, her limbs slung over his, he felt at peace with the world.

“This is nice,” she sighed, pressing a kiss to his heart through his tee. “I love this couch.”

“I love _you_.” Opening his eyes, he looked down at her, unable to help the wide smile that grew as their eyes met. “So much- oh, _fuck_.”

“What’s wrong?” Rose tried to scramble up and away from him, though he kept her against him. “Did I hurt you? Are you sick?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he grumbled, guiding her back to her previous position. “I’m just stupid.” Relaxing back against him, she nevertheless gave him an unimpressed arched eyebrow. “I had all these things I was going to tell you this morning, and I forgot.”

Propping herself up on her forearm, she looked at him expectantly. “Now seems like a good time.”

Malcolm pouted, rubbing lightly along her spine. “It’s cheesy now.”

“C’mon,” she cajoled, leaning up to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth. “Tell me.”

He sighed, exaggerating the pout in the hope she would continue to kiss him; obligingly, she nipped and licked at his extended lower lip. “I was gonna say… how the sunrise reminds me of you,” he started slowly. “How _you_ came into my life, and… shone your light on me. Your optimism, your hope, your determination, your sense of justice and equality… You burst in and lit up everything that had been sitting in the dark. The corners of my soul, the ones where love- well, romantic love- and joy in the everyday were sitting rotting. I was dying slowly, from a complete and total absence of sunlight- until you appeared.”

“Death by Scotland?” she asked innocently, bursting into giggles when he dug his fingers into her sides. “Stop _tickling_ me!”

“Never,” he shook his head, smirking. “I’ll take any opportunity to have you writhing above me, gasping my name.”

She harrumphed, shifting further over him but otherwise maintaining her pursed lip expression. “You were saying how I was the sun?”

“Sunlight,” he corrected, shifting his legs so hers fell between them, straddling one thigh. “Just when I thought the dark and dreary days would never end, you confessed the miracle of your love. I’m butchering it now, but rest assured, it was _very_ romantic and poetic.”

Rose smiled, cheeks flushing as she gazed down at him. “You saved me too,” she said quietly, her free hand pressing itself along his sternum, over his beating heart. “From loneliness, from unhappiness, from that feeling of ‘life’s pretty good but why do I feel like something’s _missing_?’, you know? You shine as bright for me as I do for you. That’s what makes us perfect together.”

He kissed her, because of the lovely words, because he loved her, and because he _could_. He poured everything into it, into _her_ , trying to show her everything his mouth couldn’t figure out how to say until they were forced apart for oxygen.

“Malcolm,” she whispered, eyes searching his, “take me to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As a heads up, the next 2 chapters will be essentially smut. There will be some discussions that occur, but for anyone not interested in the smut-bit, I'll summarize the conversations at the start of chapter 31. I'll include a reminder of the smut in the chapter title and/or summary.


	29. Chapter 29 (smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. That's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the summary, here be smut. You've been warned.

_ **Thursday, cont'd** _

Hand in hand they walked to their bedroom in a comfortable silence, occasionally catching the other’s eye and sharing shy smiles full of promise. Once there Malcolm opened the door, but kept Rose from entering.

“What?”

A moment later she shrieked as he scooped her up bridal-style, carrying her over the threshold. Kicking the door shut behind him, he crossed the room to their bed, carefully depositing her back on her feet and settling his hands on her hips to pull her close. “D’you need a mo’?” he asked, glancing towards the bathroom; when she nodded, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and let her go. “Take your time.”

With a coy smile she slipped away, and he watched fondly with his hands in his pockets. The moment the door shut behind her, though, he leapt into action – candles were pulled out of drawers, set on the bedside tables and other open spaces and lit; the bedcurtains were drawn most of the way to increase the sense of intimacy; unnecessary garments such as socks and shoes and his belt were removed. By the time she emerged, it was to a far more romantic setup than she had left.

“Oh,” she said softly, and his heart clenched in anticipation, hoping she liked it. “It’s lovely,” her smile widened, eyes shining. “A veritable honeymoon suite.”

“For you, my love.” He met her halfway, offering his hand, honored when she took it. It was still mind-blowing to him that she was here at all, that she loved him, that she _wanted_ him. “C’mon.” Leading her back to the bed, he was pleased to note that while she’d scrubbed her face free of makeup and brushed her teeth, going by the minty smell, she hadn’t changed her clothes either. He wanted to undress her, _properly_ , to take his time with her.

He wanted to worship her.

“May I kiss you?”

Rose giggled, stepping closer into his arms and smiling up at him. “Anytime, any _where_. Always. For any reason. And don’t ever, ever stop.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, thinking of his plans for her as he leaned closer, brushing his lips over hers. “And, same goes.”

She surged up to him, mouths meeting in a soft, open kiss. Her tongue slipped inside his mouth, flicking around before finding its mate, starting a slow dance that heated his blood, pulse quickening as his pants tightened. She tasted of mint, and whisky, an intoxicating combination he couldn’t get enough of, with underlying hints of just _her_.

His hands returned to her hips, gripping them tightly and pulling her against him, letting her feel the effect she had on him. Sighing in response, she angled her head, kissing him deeper, and he reveled in her taking the lead, demanding of him what she needed. She had this sexy confidence in bed, knowing what she wanted and how, and wasn’t afraid to show him how to get it right. With her, _for_ her, he could be a model student.

“Off,” she broke the kiss to whisper, tugging at his tee as they panted heavily, trying to make up for the oxygen they’d forgone in favor of sweeter sustenance. “Now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Leaning away from her only as far as necessary he pulled it off one-handed, throwing it away without watching, keeping his eyes on her as she ran her fingers and gaze over his chest. Their hips were still pressed tightly together, and the way she ground against him made his breath catch.

“Sexy,” she decided, leaning down to press a kiss over his heart. “I wanna see more skin, though.” As if her words weren’t clear enough, she tugged at his waistband. “Get naked.”

Grinning, he dipped his head to kiss her, tongue teasing hers as he undid his trousers and pushed them down, leaving him in just his pants. “You should practice as you preach,” he murmured, “but let me be a good husband and help.” Bending his knees slightly he set his palms as far down on her thighs as he could reach, slowly skating them up and letting the soft, flowy fabric of her dress gather until he pulled it over her head.

When he hesitated, unsure if it was something that could be abandoned on the ground, Rose grabbed it from him, flinging it aside and bringing his hands back to her, pressing them to her lace-clad breasts. “You know, I’m not sure you qualify for _good_ yet,” she teased. “Don’t seem to be able to follow directions. If you can’t tell, neither of us are naked.” She cupped him, palm warm through the thin cotton of his boxers, and he couldn’t resist rutting against her.

He kissed her again, lazily thrusting his tongue into her mouth in a move reminiscent of what their bodies would hopefully soon be doing, smiling against her lips when she sank into him a little. “Patience, grasshopper,” he slid his hands down to her bum, squeezing gently at the warm flesh there. “You’ll be naked soon enough.” To prove his word, he undid her bra in one smooth motion, saying a silent word of thanks to the universe that he didn’t fumble it. He cupped her face, kissing her, sliding his palms down along her slender neck and shoulders, pushing the straps along when he reached them until it fell to their feet. Still exploring her mouth, eyes closed, his hands returned to her breasts, kneading and teasing them until she let out a broken moan.

“Malcolm.”

Bending down, his lips focused on one nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue until it pebbled tightly, hand still massaging its mate. Reluctantly pulling off he turned his attention to the other, repeating the process until Rose fisted his hair, pulling his head up.

“You’re torturing me,” she accused without heat, hands running over his chest and back. “I wanna _come_.”

“You will.” He brushed a kiss over her lips, chuckling. “Oh, sweetheart, you _will_. But I want you to beg first.”

Rose pouted, looking up at him from hooded eyes. “Fine, I beg.”

Shaking his head but smiling, he once again swept her into his arms before tossing her on the bed. Following her up onto the mattress, he crawled up her body to kiss her mouth, one hand at her hip, toying with the band of her knickers. “Now, lie back and think of England,” he teased.

“What? _Malcolm-_ ”

Starting at her throat he left a trail of wet open-mouthed kisses down her body to her navel, pausing along the way to give each tight nipple another strong suck. Tongue circling her belly button, he licked his way down to the top of her knickers, skimming his nose against the lace until he reached the very center of her. Her scent was strong, a groin-tightening, heart-clenchingly wonderful musk, and he pressed a kiss just there, through the lace, making her hips buck.

Leaning back slightly to give himself room to work, he hooked his fingers between the fabric and her skin, glancing up her torso and pausing. “This alright?”

“Guh,” she replied, nodding, eyes hooded and cloudy with desire. “You don’t have to, though.”

“I want to.” He peeled the lace away from her skin, tossing it over his head to join the rest of their clothes where they lay forgotten on the floor. “May I?”

She shifted, thighs parting, one knee bending so her foot lay flat against the duvet. “Please.”

Hungry eyes took their time drinking her in; this was his first time seeing her spread out before him, and his breath caught at her beauty. It was official; he wanted to spend the rest of his life between her thighs, bringing this incredible woman pleasure. And now that they’d shared their love, his odds of being able to do just that were sky high.

Smiling brightly at the thought, he pressed a kiss to the side of her knee as he got situated, nipping and sucking at it until a pale hickey formed. “Excellent. Pillow under your bum, please.”

She did as asked, breathing deeply and letting him shift her legs until he was perched comfortably between her thighs. “You don’t have to,” she said again, carding her fingers through his hair. She had propped herself up against several pillows, looking fucking gorgeous from his point of view, with her hair mussed and lips swollen, wearing nothing but his ring.

“Do you want me to?” He skimmed his fingertips along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, so close to where she was wet but not quite there – not yet.

Her core visibly clenched in answer, and she nodded shyly. “You’re so good at one sort of tongue-lashing, I always wondered how you’d be at this.”

He couldn’t resist rocking his hips down into the mattress, as blood surged to his groin. “You’ve imagined this?”

“I’ve imagined _plenty_.”

Deciding she looked too smug and put together, he leaned forward without fanfare and ran the flat of his tongue along her slit, from bottom to top, tip zeroing in on her clit and flicking at it.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” she gasped in surprise, eyes widening. “Do that again.”

* * *

He took his time with her, focusing more on her reactions, trying to find what she did and didn’t like. Her body was wonderfully expressive, guiding him before her brain could send instructions to her mouth. She wasn’t particularly loud or talkative, mostly soft sighs and hitched breaths which he didn’t mind, though he did want to find out what it took to make her scream. The first time she came on his tongue was a surprise, entirely unexpected but very welcome. He hadn’t yet had much opportunity to really study her orgasms, usually busy in the thralls of his own, and was therefore terribly disappointed to essentially miss it.

The second and third times, however, were carefully observed; the way her internal muscles clenched and pulsed around his fingers on the third almost had him coming with her, and despite his initial desire to spend the rest of his life making her come that way, he decided the next time she came would be around his cock.

Letting her have a few moments to catch her breath he backed off the bed to ease his pants down his legs, admiring how she was splayed out. While she’d been composed and snarky when they started, now, recovering from her third earth-shattering orgasm (if he did say so himself), she was a sweaty, sated mess. Her limbs were akimbo, chest heaving, her hair a rat’s nest from how she’d tugged at the strands in her pleasure.

Eyes closed and face slack, she was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

“You alright there?” he laughed, palming himself as he returned to the bed, stretching out beside her.

She moaned, and had to blink several times to keep her eyes open, rolling her head to the side to see him. “Holy fuck, how did you get so good at that? Don’t answer that.”

“Was it satisfactory then?” he asked innocently, leaning over to take the nearest nipple into his mouth, sucking languidly at it. Her sweat added a salty tang to the taste of her skin, and he wanted more- craved it.

Rose batted his head away, whimpering, before rolling onto her side. “It was okay.” She laughed then, a breathless thing that went straight to his cock, making him squeeze it extra tightly to keep from spoiling the rest of the night with an ill-timed release. “Yes, it was ‘satisfactory’ - more than. Way, way more than.”

“Good.” He shifted closer to her, running his free hand along her bare side from mid-thigh to waist, up to cup her breast. “Because I fucking loved doing it, and plan to often.”

“Okay.” She smiled, a bit of life returning to gaze as she recovered. “Your turn, now, I think.” Nudging his hand away she wrapped her fingers around him, starting a lazy glide along his length. “I can’t wait to taste you – I’ve been dreaming of it for years.”

“Really?” Hard as he was, her current grip wasn’t near enough to get him off, but it eased some of the ache, and he relaxed into it – other than a few brief pumps during their previous sessions right before the ‘main event’, this was the first time she was really touching him, and he wanted to savor the moment. Especially as this time, the ‘main event’ wouldn’t last long at all.

Rose nodded, head sliding along the pillow and mussing her hair further. “That’s how I knew I was first attracted to you,” she confided. “You came in that day in those skinny jeans- remember? Clara made you buy them? They were so tight, I could see the outline of you… I couldn’t stop thinking about it, wondering what your cock looked like, tasted like. I’ve spent many an hour since at my desk daydreaming about sucking you off in the office.”

“Well, we’re definitely doing that,” he grunted, thrusting into her hand. “I’ve thought the same thing myself more than once – and not just of me as the recipient.”

“Deal,” she agreed quickly, picking up some speed and leaning forward to kiss him. “Also, I wanna ride you on your sofa.”

The flashback to Monday night when she’d done just that, albeit in their bed, was so visceral he barely managed to hold back his orgasm. “Enough,” he decided, easing her hand away and pushing her onto her back. “Please say you’re ready.” He positioned himself over her, skating his fingers along her slit, easily sliding two inside. She was still sufficiently wet, but he waited for her nod; as soon as she did he withdrew his hand, coating himself in her juices before lining himself up and pushing home.

Once he was fully seated in her he froze, groaning in relief. She was hot and wet, and felt so, _so_ good. Head dropping, he opened his eyes to find himself at eye-level with one nipple; catching it between his teeth, he bit gently before soothing it with his tongue. “Can you come again?”

She just smiled. “Fuck me, already, would you?”

Leveraging himself on his elbows, closing his eyes again to focus, he began to move his hips, quickly picking up steam. She was making those now-familiar soft noises below him, and when he lowered himself to bury his face in her shoulder, he felt her fingers between them, working to bring herself off.

“Close,” he panted, losing his rhythm in favor of sloppy, desperate thrusting as he chased release. “Come, Rose.”

He was drowning in sensations, unable to concentrate on just one to follow- her hair and warm skin against his face, the way the nails of her free hand bit into skin of his back, her thighs hitched around him keeping them together, the unbelievable feel of her walls clenching around his cock as she climbed.

“You too,” she arched against him. “Malcolm!”

She shattered, muscles squeezing him, and he followed her over the cliff to oblivion with a wordless shout, collapsing on top of her.

It had been worth the wait.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut.
> 
> That's literally it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted in the chapter summary, this chapter is essentially smut. The little that is not will be summarized at the start of the next chapter.

_ **Thursday, very very late** _

“I have something for you,” Malcolm murmured, kissing her ear.

“Huh?”

He’d cleaned up the worst of the mess they’d made, and now that the sweat had cooled and dried, they were snuggled together under the blankets, her back to his front, their arms entangled and folded together beneath her breasts. Thoroughly sated, warm, comfortable, and happy, she was almost asleep when he spoke.

He rolled away from her, and by the time he came back she had turned to face him, pillowing her head on her arm as she watched him. His hands appeared, one clenched around something, and her breath caught. “What-”

“Rose,” he cut her off, not unkindly, “you… you are a breath of fresh air. You-”

Unable to help it she yawned, face scrunching with the size of it- it seemed to go on forever, and by the time it was over, he was biting his lip, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t want to bore you.”

“Mhmm, you’re not,” she promised, snuggling closer, “but I’m _exhausted_. My husband had me up ridiculously early to watch the sunrise this morning, then he shagged my brains out.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.”

“He is.” She grinned up at him. “And I’m going to return the favor and blow his mind- well, _something_ \- as soon as I’ve gotten a kip.”

Malcolm hummed. “Well, I’ll let you get to it, but first- I’ll save the drawn-out romantic speech for when you’re more awake, but…” Holding out his clenched hand in front of him, he turned it over and opened it to reveal a ring, with a decent sapphire stone set in gold. It was beautiful, and delicate, and she loved it.

“Oh, babe,” Rose gasped softly. “That’s wonderful.”

“Do you really think so?” Surprisingly shy, he held it out to her. “If so, I want you to have it. If not, there’s plenty more in the family vault, but- I wanted you to have this one. I’ve wanted you to have it for… a while.”

“Are you sure?” She took in carefully, holding it up to her eye to examine it better. “It looks old. Not in a bad way, just in a valuable way.”

Her husband slid his hand over her waist, pulling her closer. “Yes. I didn’t give you an engagement ring, because… but now that our feelings have been resolved, that it’s all out in the open, I want you to have a pretty ring to show off.”

Rose looked down at the simple gold band she’d been wearing for the last week, and felt her heart melt. “I’m very happy with the ring I already have,” she told him softly, “because you gave it to me. I think this will be a perfect addition.” Then she handed it back.

“Wait, what?”

Rolling her eyes, she held out her left hand to him, grinning. “Go ahead, put it on me. ‘S only right.”

He did, carefully guiding it up her finger and over her knuckles, settling it at the base of her wedding band before bringing her hand to his lips and kissing both rings gently. “Perfect.”

“I agree.” Bringing her hand to her face, she admired how they looked together – like they belonged next to each other. “That wasn’t necessary, but… thank you.”

“You deserve the world,” he shrugged one shoulder. “A ring- a family heirloom at that- is nothing.”

Smiling, she leaned forward, kissing him sweetly. “Let’s get some sleep,” she sighed against his lips. “Then when we wake up, I’ll thank you properly.”

He kissed her back. “No thanks necessary.”

“Oh, I think it’s _very_ necessary.”

* * *

_ **Friday, very very early** _

Yawning, Rose padded back to bed from the loo, on her way eyeing the clothing strewn across the floor, abandoned where it had fallen. At first glance it would be impossible to mistake what had happened, and she felt awkward at the idea of the maid finding them like that. Sending a longing glance towards the bed, she quickly gathered up the items and piled them on the chair so they didn’t look quite so much like victims of torrential passion – as they had been.

Climbing back into bed, she snuggled down next to Malcolm in the hopes of falling back asleep, but it was soon clear that that wasn’t going to happen. Her mind was wide awake, and a heat low in her belly begged for relief. Grunting in frustration she opened her eyes, taking in Malcolm’s profile in the moonlight. In his sleep he’d rolled onto his back, one arm bent above his head, the other across his chest. The sheet had slipped down to his hips, and she licked her lips at the slight tenting occurring there.

Glancing back up at his face she found him sleeping soundly, and debated whether or not to wake him up. On the one hand, she saw no reason they should both be awake just because she couldn’t sleep. On the other, if they were awake anyway…

* * *

Malcolm drifted towards consciousness, hazily aware of a wet warmth on his stomach. Stretching his arm out beside him, his eyes shot open at realizing he was alone in bed, Rose’s side cool and empty. He didn’t have to wonder long, though, before solving both mysteries at once – his wife was stretched out on her side perpendicular to his waist, drawing shapes on his stomach with her tongue as she propped herself up on her forearms.

“Good morning,” he rasped, threading his fingers through her hair, eyes following the tip of her tongue. “Having fun?”

“Technically, it’s not morning,” she replied with a grin, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his navel. “But, I figured you wouldn’t mind. Tit for tat, and such.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest with a mere, “Oh?”

Her grin morphed into a smirk, and she tugged at the sheet covering his hips; it didn’t move, just pressed down against him, accentuating the tenting happening there. “I mean, if you’re _up_ for it.”

“I could _probably_ be persuaded to be a team player,” he drawled. “For the right price.” Anticipation had heat pooling low in his belly, but he was enjoying the game- he loved how playful she could be, how she brought that same quality out in him. Sex with Rose was _fun_ , in a way it had rarely been throughout his life.

“Is that so?” Freeing one hand, she trailed her fingertips along his length over the sheet, making his obscured erection bob and his stomach clench. “I’ve been known to broker a fair deal or two in my day.”

He stole her abandoned pillow, using it to prop himself up to better see what she was doing- and what he desperately hoped she would be soon. “Rose.”

Rose snickered, and he flushed at his inadvertently-whiney tone. “Yes, dear?”

She drew the sheet away from him, and he helped kick it down to the end of the bed, far out of the way. The cooler air of their bedroom felt wonderful on his heated flesh, and he watched with pleading eyes as she examined his length, abruptly realizing that though they’d been intimate a handful of times now, she’d never really _seen_ him- not like this, and he eyed his sometimes-errant member with suspicion. _Don’t ruin this for us_ , he warned it- no need to remind her that he was officially closing in on ‘middle age’.

Apparently, though, he didn’t need to worry.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, making him twitch in response. “Lovely. Really.” Leaning forward she flicked her tongue against the head, drawing a sigh from him. “And big. Who knew you were hiding this in your trousers all those years?” Her tongue darted out again, and he sagged back against the pillows, hand returning to her hair and combing through the loose strands, gently untangling them.

He let her tease him for far longer than he would have liked, her soft kisses and licks doing nothing but making him ache for her, despite the sensual beauty of the visual. She was on her hands and knees next to him, breasts hanging freely. His eyes lingered along her smooth side, taking in the pert bum wagging slightly in the air with her movements. She was the epitome of art, and were it not so personal and he so possessive, he would insist that her likeness should hang in any of the great art museums in the world, so anyone and everyone could marvel at her sheer, erotic beauty. Eventually, though, the tension became unbearable, and he shifted restlessly on the mattress, his focus narrowing to the imminent pleasure.

“I’m starting to think you’re all talk.”

His beautiful bride looked up the length of his chest to meet his eye, gaze taking its time to peruse the view on the way. “Is that all men think about?” she asked, biting her lip, unable to hide her smirk. “Getting their cock sucked?”

“It is when a beautiful woman promises to do so then _doesn’t_.” He arched his eyebrows. “You’ve made your husband a promise, Mrs. Tucker, and I expect you to see it through.”

She laughed. “Mrs. Tucker. I like that.” Her fingers wrapped around him, starting a lazy glide along his skin. “You know, this is only fair, after how you tortured me last night.”

“Tortured you?” he said indignantly. “I didn’t know orgasms were considered torture. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Arching one eyebrow up at him, she dipped her head and finally, _finally_ , slid her lips over the head of him, sucking lightly as her tongue explored him.

“Guh.”

Her chuckle was almost silent, but the vibrations from it were amazing over his aching flesh, and he grunted, fingers tightening in her hair. It had been a long time since his last relationship (if one could call it that), and to be here, with the woman he’d quietly loved from afar for so long, still felt dreamlike. He hoped he never lost that feeling.

Rose pulled her hand and mouth off of him then, grinning at his involuntary protest. “I’m just making myself comfortable,” she soothed, shifting around to settle herself between his thighs, kneeling over him. “I suggest you hold on.”

This time, when she lowered her mouth to him, it was without any of the languidness of before- taking half his length in on the first pass, she began a seemingly-complicated rhythm of bobbing and sucking, her hand pumping the parts her mouth couldn’t reach, all of which worked to short-circuit his brain and send him spiraling towards the abyss.

“Oh, Rose,” he groaned, fisting the pillows next to his head, trying to keep himself from spending too quickly. “So good. _Too_ good.” The suction she was able to generate was incredible, his eyes rolling back into his head in delight.

In response she just took him deeper, his tip bumping the back of her throat twice before she pulled off, coughing. “Okay, can’t do that,” she giggled, breathing deeply. “How do you want to…”

He had to fight to open his eyes, especially once she returned to sucking at his head. “Ngh.” Thought was difficult, all his senses focused on the pleasures of her mouth, but he decided he didn’t want to come alone. “Fuck me.”

“You sure? I can-”

Malcolm reached for her, catching her hand and using it to pull her up his body. “Please.”

Straddling his hips, she rose up for a moment to line him up before sinking down onto him, taking all of him in one go. “Mhmm.”

“Yes,” he grunted, gripping her hips and starting to thrust up. “C’mon.” She started slow, her movements more of a rock then a thrust, before she leaned forward, bracing her hands above his shoulders and dipping her head to kiss him. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, drowning in pleasure. “So much.”

“I love you too.”

She wormed her tongue into his mouth, flicking it against his own as her hips began to pick up speed, rolling over him in a delicious counterpoint to his own thrusting. Letting go of her hips he wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her against him, as his right hand slipped between them, finding her clit and rubbing it desperately.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Rose keened softly, head bowing as she rode him harder. “Mhmm, yeah.”

“Come, Rose,” he pleaded, rhythm stuttering as he fought to hold on, waiting for her to catch up. “Please.”

“Hang on.”

He stopped instantly, and panting for breath, she shifted over him, straightening up and setting her hands on his chest as she got her feet under her. His limbs trembled, unsure how much more he could take, but she tossed her head, hair flying behind her, and opened her eyes.

“Okay.”

And then she was riding him, all finesse lost in favor of chasing release. For a moment he forgot to start moving himself, captivated by her beauty- her sweat-slick skin shining in the moonlight, the building pleasure on her face, her breasts bouncing with the force of her movements.

“Malcolm,” she whimpered, and he sprang to life, one hand returning between them to pleasure her, the other reaching up to pinch and twist a nipple just the way she liked.

She broke with a sob, freezing above him, head thrown back, body shaking with the strength of her release, before collapsing down onto him. Rolling her onto her back and settling above her, he hooked one knee in the crook of his elbow and began to move. It only took another half-dozen or so thrusts before it was his turn, gasping her name as he finally found sweet release, sagging down to cover her body with his own.

“I love you,” she whispered, face buried in his shoulder.

“I love you too,” he sighed, enjoying the looseness in his muscles and peace in his heart. Nothing in the world felt better against his skin than hers, wrapped up in each other as they were, and he couldn’t have left her in that moment for anything.

She pressed a kiss to his clavicle, one arm weakly wrapping around his waist. “We’re gonna have a _brilliant_ life.”

“Fucking right we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end of this story! There's still a few more chapters to go, and I'm hoping to finish writing them soon, so don't get nervous because of the chapter count.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (And if you could tell me what you think of the smut, that would be awesome. Thanks :) )


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with Sarah Jane, Jack, and Ianto, during which Malcolm makes a surprising offer.
> 
> *Note: chapter 30 was posted when the email system was down. I included an excerpt of the non-smut bits at the beginning of this chapter, for those who would prefer to skip it. If you *want* to read the smut, by all means!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return from our detour into smut-ville. A good time was had by all.
> 
> As mentioned in the summary, chapter 30 was posted when the email system was down. I included an excerpt of the non-smut bits at the beginning of this chapter, for those who would prefer to skip it. If you *want* to read the smut, by all means!

**_ Previously (for the smut-averse): _ **

“I have something for you,” Malcolm murmured, kissing her ear.

“Huh?”

They were snuggled together under the blankets, her back to his front, their arms entangled and folded together beneath her breasts. Thoroughly sated, warm, comfortable, and happy, she was almost asleep when he spoke.

He rolled away from her, and by the time he came back she had turned to face him, pillowing her head on her arm as she watched him. His hands appeared, one clenched around something, and her breath caught. “What-”

“Rose,” he cut her off, not unkindly, “you… you are a breath of fresh air. You-”

Unable to help it she yawned, face scrunching with the size of it- it seemed to go on forever, and by the time it was over, he was biting his lip, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t want to bore you.”

“Mhmm, you’re not,” she promised, snuggling closer, “but I’m _exhausted_. My husband had me up ridiculously early to watch the sunrise this morning, then he shagged my brains out.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.”

“He is.” She grinned up at him. “And I’m going to return the favor and blow his mind- well, _something_ \- as soon as I’ve gotten a kip.”

Malcolm hummed. “Well, I’ll let you get to it, but first- I’ll save the drawn-out romantic speech for when you’re more awake, but…” Holding out his clenched hand in front of him, he turned it over and opened it to reveal a ring, with a decent sapphire stone set in gold. It was beautiful, and delicate, and she loved it.

“Oh, babe,” Rose gasped softly. “That’s wonderful.”

“Do you really think so?” Surprisingly shy, he held it out to her. “If so, I want you to have it. If not, there’s plenty more in the family vault, but- I wanted you to have this one. I’ve wanted you to have it for… a while.”

“Are you sure?” She took in carefully, holding it up to her eye to examine it better. “It looks old. Not in a bad way, just in a valuable way.”

Her husband slid his hand over her waist, pulling her closer. “Yes. I didn’t give you an engagement ring, because… but now that our feelings have been resolved, that it’s all out in the open, I want you to have a pretty ring to show off.”

Rose looked down at the simple gold band she’d been wearing for the last week, and felt her heart melt. “I’m very happy with the ring I already have,” she told him softly, “because you gave it to me. I think this will be a perfect addition.” Then she handed it back.

“Wait, what?”

Rolling her eyes, she held out her left hand to him, grinning. “Go ahead, put it on me. ‘S only right.”

He did, carefully guiding it up her finger and over her knuckles, settling it at the base of her wedding band before bringing her hand to his lips and kissing both rings gently. “Perfect.”

“I agree.” Bringing her hand to her face, she admired how they looked together – like they belonged next to each other. “That wasn’t necessary, but… thank you.”

“You deserve the world,” he shrugged one shoulder. “A ring- a family heirloom at that- is nothing.”

Smiling, she leaned forward, kissing him sweetly. “Let’s get some sleep,” she sighed against his lips. “Then when we wake up, I’ll thank you properly.”

He kissed her back. “No thanks necessary.”

“Oh, I think it’s _very_ necessary.”

* * *

* * *

**_ Friday evening _ **

“Do you think I look okay?” Rose fussed, critically examining her reflection in the mirror. Sarah Jane would shortly be arriving for dinner, and she wanted her first hosting event to go smoothly, looking and acting the part. She’d chosen a cocktail dress, one of the nicer ones she owned – it was a dark navy, with silver threaded accents, paired with sapphire studs Malcolm had gifted her with the night before the wedding. Those and her rings were the only jewelry she wore, and she fingered the neckline of the dress. “Is it missing something? Something that might make it better?”

Malcolm grunted, and she watched in the full-length mirror as he finished tying his laces and stood, coming up behind her. “Well,” he considered, setting his hands on her hips and rucking up the fabric slightly, enough to show the tops of her thigh-high stockings, “I do have one thought…”

“Oh, do you?” she rolled her eyes, grinning. “What’s that?”

“ _I_ think- and this is just my opinion, mind, what do I know about fashion- _but_ , it seems to me it might look better on the floor.”

Rose burst into laughter, spinning out of his grip. “Later,” she promised, smoothing the fabric back down her thighs. “For now, behave. Our guest will be here any minute.” Even as she spoke, the sound of crunching gravel echoed up from below.

Her husband held his hands up in response, backing away with an incorrigible smirk. “Fine, but I’m going to hold you to that,” he warned, returning to the bed to pull on his sport coat. “But in all seriousness, you look incredible.”

“Thank you.” She offered him a smile in return, letting her eyes drag over him. “And may I say, you clean up well.”

“Yes, well, one must look one’s best for company,” he affected a terribly posh accent, making her giggle. “Now, would you do me the honor of allowing me to accompany you to dinner, my lady?”

* * *

Rose snorted, half-choking on her glass of wine. “I’m sorry, you _what_?” she gasped, head spinning to stare at her husband. “No. No way.”

“He did!” Sarah Jane laughed, looking smug. “And it was his idea! All we said was-”

“Bullshit,” Malcolm snapped back, eyes pleading with Rose. “Bull. _Shit_. I have no memory of this!”

“Because you were absolutely plastered!”

“And even if this ridiculous accusation _were_ true- which it’s not- it would solely be because _someone_ called me more boring than plain toast!”

“Sorry, what did we miss?” Jack asked, as he and Ianto slid back into their seats. “We had some Estate business to attend to.”

Watching Ianto discreetly wipe at his mouth with his napkin, Rose arched an eyebrow at her cousin-in-law. “Is that so?”

He merely gave her a bawdy wink in response, making his buttoned-up boyfriend’s ears go pink. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Malcolm stole a police horse at uni,” Rose blurted, even as her husband denied it.

“Rose!”

Jack gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “Malcolm Tucker! I don’t believe it. D’you have any evidence?”

Rose laughed as Malcolm pouted, his lower lip protruding further when no one came to his defense. Though the conversation continued around her she just watched him, reaching out for his hand. He stared at it for a moment before his expression softened, and he took it, thumb rubbing over the bands of her rings, straightening the newer one as the stone had listed to the right. Their eyes met, and she smiled, growing lost in his gaze. It was so freeing, to be able to show her love with him, to not have to hide her adoring looks or make up excuses to see him or be with him. They could just _be_ , and she hoped it never changed.

“So, Rose, is this your first trip to Scotland?”

Sarah Jane’s voice broke the spell, and Rose had to blink several times to bring the rest of the room back into focus. “Sorry? Oh, uh, yes, it is.”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” she smiled, leaning forward. “I mean, I’ve mostly been on the property other than the trip into town the other day when we met and the drive up from Inverness Airport, but… I think we will be making frequent trips back here. I’d love to see more.”

Malcolm cleared his throat, and she glanced over to find him wiping his mouth. “Actually…”

“What?”

His thumb moved over the back of her hand, the only giveaway that he was nervous about what he was going to say.

“Well, I was thinking about our conversation the other day, and… what would you say to leaving here early? I think Jack and I have pretty much wrapped up our business, and while it would be nice to just hang out here, what if instead we went on a driving tour?”

“A driving tour?” she repeated, heart leaping in her chest.

He nodded. “You, me, your twenty-three suitcases and Bessie on the open road. We’ll stay at B&Bs, and see everything you want to.”

Rose stared at him, nearly overwhelmed with joy at his suggestion. “That sounds wonderful,” she breathed, “but no- not _everything_. Let’s leave some for our next trip.”

“You like the idea?” He looked so earnest, eager to please and hopeful, her heart nearly gave out with love.

Throwing down her napkin, she stood and walked to him, settling across his lap and wrapping her arms around him. “I _love_ the idea,” she whispered, kissing him. “Absolutely. Let’s do it.”

* * *

Like a switch had been flipped, the energy and conversation in the room changed as they started planning – Jack went running for his laptop while Sarah pulled a tablet out of her purse, and within minutes they were planning routes and must-sees, calling out suggestions of things Rose might be interested in.

Sitting back in his seat Malcolm watched Rose bounce between Sarah and Jack to hear their ideas, Ianto plugging everything into Google Maps and finding the optimal itinerary. She looked happy, her face flushed and eyes sparkling, like a general commanding her troops just as she did every year during the Gala. He’d always found that sexy, how she could be so confident and in charge when the moment called for it, despite her always fretting if she was the best person for the job.

Perhaps he was biased, but he felt she was the best person for _any_ job, wholly capable of doing anything she set her mind to.

“Hey, Malc,” Jack called, breaking him from his reverie. “How far south do you want to go?”

Malcolm waited a beat to be sure Jack wasn’t being fresh, but when his cousin didn’t break into a smirk, he shrugged. “I was thinking of a large loop, staying just above Edinburgh and Glasgow. Going along the eastern coast, then as far down as Stirling, maybe, if she wanted to see the castle? Through the Trossachs then up to Glencoe, then out to Skye. Return to Inverness, meet someone there to take the car, and we fly home.”

Rose made a soft noise, and he grinned. “Yes, dear, we can stop by Loch Ness – even go to the museum, if you like. We’ll drive up along it from Skye.”

“Yes!” she gave a little fist pump, before blushing. “I mean, sure, that sounds fine I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a rite of passage,” Sarah said soothingly, patting her hand. “I know I had to go when I first got here – of course, I was only coming for uni, fully intending to return to London at the time. Still, I was quite excited – and I _swear_ I saw something.”

Malcolm scoffed, rolling his eyes despite his grin. “It was probably the sleep deprivation,” he retorted. “You were the one insisting we bring the baby. Poor wee Clara cried the whole night through.”

“The whole _trip_ through,” his friend shuddered. “Six twenty-year-olds and an infant. Two hundred kilometers each way.” Then she smiled. “It was terrible fun. God, I miss being that age.”

“Clara and I did stuff like that,” Rose grinned, sinking into the nearest chair. “Friday afternoon after our last class- or sometimes before- we’d just hop on a train and _go_ somewhere. Rent a room for a night or two, do some exploring, then head back for Monday classes. Sometimes it was just into London – funny how you can live there your whole life and have no interest in it, then move away for uni and just to want to go explore there.”

“We only travelled as a group a few times – no money – but it was always fun,” Malcolm said. “Especially when Missy would get her nose out of joint and insist on staying home with Clara, awful as that sounds.”

Sarah, Rose, and Jack snorted as one. “We’ve all met Missy,” Jack said reassuringly. “We understand.”

Ianto looked around, uncertain. “Er, I haven’t.”

“Count your blessings,” Rose said dryly, before looking down at her list. “Right, now be honest- is there time to see all of this in the remaining week we’re off?”

Malcolm just laughed. “You know, I bet if you ask _really_ nicely, your boss will let you take more time.”

“Is that so?” she asked, giving him that grin that always made his pants tighten – the one where her tongue gets caught between her teeth, sparking eyes laughing at him, and he would give her the world if she asked.

He just smiled back, holding her gaze, until Sarah felt the need to groan.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, get a _room_ you two!”

* * *

“So, honestly,” Malcolm asked when they were once again alone, curled up together in their bed, bodies sated for the moment. “Is this how you’d like to spend the rest of our honeymoon?”

“What, in bed?” Rose chuckled, rolling over to face him. “No, seriously. I think this… _driving tour_ is a brilliant idea. Just you and me, playing tourist… I mean, I wouldn’t have said no to bikinis and fruity cocktails and white sand, but yeah, this is good too.” Snuggling closer, she rested her head on his chest. “I _love_ the idea. I’m so excited. I’m sorry to be leaving here, but… we can always come back, right?”

“As often as you like.”

She sighed in contentment, leaning forward to press her lips over his heart. “Then, often enough – at least every year or two. It’s so beautiful, and _peaceful_. And you might make an equestrian of me yet.”

Malcolm bit his lip, chewing over his words before tentatively offering, “You know, we can travel wherever you want. _When_ ever you want. I mean, much of our work at the Foundation can be done from anywhere with an internet connection. Whether that’s the Scottish Highlands or the Maldives.”

“I will take that under advisement,” Rose nodded, walking her fingers along his sternum. “How about I make a list, and _you_ make a list, and then we’ll compare them and go from there?”

He breathed out. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Do I hear a ‘but’?”

He stayed silent, unsure if it was worth bringing up, before deciding to broach the subject from a non-direct angle. “Maybe we should expand that list not to just travel, but to… other things we may or may not want to experience together?”

“D’you mean like sex stuff?”

“No- I mean, sure, that’s fine, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.” _Just say it, you coward._

She looked up at him, eyes searching his, and after a moment, she said, “If you mean babies, that is _definitely_ happening. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t! But, I don’t want to pressure you,” he hurried to say, grateful that she had been able to read him, hadn’t made him say it. “But, yes, that is something I would like. With you. If you want.”

Shifting under the blankets, Rose clambered on top of him, straddling his waist and leaning down, kissing him slowly, decadently, the kind of kiss that lingers long after the lips part. “Like I said, definitely happening. Though, like, in a year or two, if that’s okay. I want some time to just be an _us_ first, you know? Deal?”

“Deal.”

They sealed it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sad news to offer - next chapter will be the final chapter, plus an epilogue.
> 
> And don't worry, I haven't forgotten the bonus materials I've promised - they will come along once the story concludes.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Malcolm's last day at Gallifrey starts with an unexpected phone call, and ends with promises to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who may not have been receiving emails regarding updates lately, please note several have been posted since the server work started. I know I personally haven't gotten emails about the last 3 or so chapters that were posted. If so, chapters 29 & 30 were effectively all smut.

**_ Saturday morning _ **

The trilling coming from the nightstand woke her, and with an annoyed whine Rose stretched out her arm, searching blindly for the offending mobile. Finding it she brought it to her face, prying one eye open to read the display – it wasn’t quite half seven, and it was an incoming call from Clara.

“Who’s it?” her husband mumbled against the back of her neck, wrapped tightly around her, and she pressed back against him.

“Clara.”

His panicked “Rose, _no_ ,” came too late- she’d already swiped to answer the call, Clara’s face filling the screen for a FaceTime call instead of the voice-only Rose had expected.

The small box in the corner showing what Clara was seeing told Rose that her best friend would be able to see (and unable to deny) that Rose and Malcolm were in bed together. _Oops._ “Erm, hi, Clar,” Rose offered half-heartedly, wriggling the fingers of her free hand in a wave. “What’s up?”

“Please tell me you’re not in the middle of having sex,” the brunette said faintly, and to Rose’s further embarrassment Danny’s face immediately popped up behind Clara, his eyes widening for just a moment before he disappeared off screen again.

“We were sleeping,” Malcolm rolled his eyes, his arm wrapping tighter around Rose’s waist. “Did you need something?”

Clara still appeared stunned, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth slightly open. “We usually talk at this time,” she managed. “It’s Saturday. I assumed you’d be up- awake! I thought you’d be _awake_.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Rose bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at Malcolm, who nodded encouragingly. “We… we’re together. We talked it out and- we’re together.”

“ _Properly_ together or fuck-buddies together?”

“Clara!” Malcolm protested. “Really.”

Rose elbowed him, smiling nervously. “Properly together. In all the gooey, mushy, lovestruck glory of a forever kind of love together.”

She waited for Clara’s response, anxious – though throughout everything Clara had _seemed_ on board with the idea, had encouraged them both, at the moment of reckoning Rose worried she wouldn’t take it well.

“But you _are_ shagging?”

“Clar.”

A wide smile spread over Clara’s face, and she began to squeal. “Oh, really? Really really really?” She clapped in delight, turning to yell over her shoulder, “They’re in love!”

Danny’s off-camera reply of “No shit” just made them all laugh.

“Oh, I’m so _happy_ for you,” Clara gushed, leaning forward towards her mobile as if that would bring her closer to them. “Last we talked you weren’t sure how he felt – what happened? Tell me _everything_.”

* * *

He found her in the kitchen of all places, perched on a barstool at the island next to Jack rifling through a familiar box, most of its contents spread on the countertop while across from them, Ianto worked diligently on building a veritable tower of sandwiches for them to take with them.

“Having fun jewelry shopping?” Malcolm asked, sidling up beside her, but judging by the way she jumped and looked up guiltily, his teasing tone hadn’t come through.

“I wanted to bring Clara something, after the way she found out. If that’s okay,” she fumbled, peering up at him, and he smiled back in response.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He brushed a tendril of hair from her face. “This is all yours as much as it is mine – I was only teasing. Have what you like, and if you want to give it to Clara, that’s perfectly fine and a wonderful idea. Have you picked anything yet?” Tearing his gaze from her he surveyed the countertop, covered in rings and necklaces mostly, gems sparkling in the industrial lighting Jack had installed as they were technically in the basement.

Relaxing back against him she showed him the few pieces she was considering, and when he pointed to one he thought his daughter might rather like, confessed it was her top contender as well.

“What about me, don’t I deserve something pretty?” Jack wanted to know, making Malcolm roll his eyes as Rose carefully returned the other jewelry pieces to the box, selection made.

“You’re the custodian of this place- how would I know what you do with it when I’m not here?” he shot back, arching an eyebrow at his cousin. “In fact, I’d prefer _not_ to know what you get up to, knowing you.” His eyes cut to Ianto, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smirk, though he didn’t look up.

Shaking his head, he slipped an arm around Rose’s waist so she had to lean back and tilt her head up to see him. “Ready to hit the road, sweetheart?”

She nodded, before scrunching up her face. “Maybe one last walk through the house and gardens first, yeah?”

“I would love nothing more.”

* * *

They strolled hand in hand, and Rose did her best to soak up everything before they left, only realizing now how little of the house she’d seen. “I am a little sorry to be leaving so soon,” she confessed, as they stepped out into the garden. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled about our little tour, but I feel I didn’t get enough time here.”

“Well, we can return anytime you wish,” he shrugged. “It’s not that expensive to come up. Or we could even drive once, stay over on our way up. Sightsee in England as well.”

“I love that idea. Maybe I watch too much American telly, but the idea of a road trip always seemed so romantic.” She leaned her head against his bicep. “Have I mentioned lately how happy I am, with you?”

He let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against him. “No happier than _I_ am to have _you_. I’ve been dreaming of this, of being with you, for… a few years now. I never thought it would happen, _could_ happen, but I’m so happy it has.”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she murmured in reply, slipping her hand around his back beneath his jacket. “It still feels unreal to be able to tell you that.”

“Can you believe it’s only been a week?” His hand slid down from her waist to her hip, dangerously close to being a (very welcome) grope. “Last Saturday at this time we were getting ready for the Gala, and I thought the night would be perfect if I could hold you for several dances. I had no idea what was to come, but I’m so happy it did.”

Rose smiled, thinking back to that night – how nervous she’d been, how she’d worried that he might reject her. If only she’d known… “I did.”

“What?” He looked down at her, startled, and she laughed.

“It didn’t just _happen._ I spent all week wrestling with myself, but I decided to _shoot my shot_ as the cool kids say. I deliberately seduced you.” It was fun, watching the emotions play across his face as he digested that, and she was quietly relieved when he settled on stunned delight.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Yep. And, you’ll love this – it was _Clara’s_ idea. She encouraged me. Don’t get me wrong, I _wanted_ to- wanted _you_ \- but she convinced me I wouldn’t be making a fool of myself.”

“Clara? My Clara?” He looked adorably indignant, spluttering slightly. “I don’t know if I should be grateful or annoyed at her interference.” Then his brow furrowed. “How, exactly, did you seduce me?”

“I’m sorry, did you _see_ me in that dress?”

“And out of it.” He smirked. “You were stunning.”

“Damn right. That was the point – I wanted your hands on my skin. And I knew it was going to happen the moment you saw me and did your best impression of a fish. And then you said _fuck me_.” She smiled at the memory. “So I did.”

He stopped walking then, turning to her, and then his mouth was on hers, tongue easing past parted lips, and she sagged into him, savoring the freedom to adore him, to let her heart sing with love.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips, when they finally pulled back for air. Her brain was foggy, everything forgotten but for the taste of him. Her befuddlement must have shown on her face because he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “For being brave enough,” he elaborated. “I’m not sure I would have ever gotten up the courage to try my luck with you- I was too afraid of losing you. I’d convinced myself I’d be happier in the long run pining for you with the possibility hanging over my head than if I asked and you turned me down.”

Rose smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning closer, glancing around the estate – they were alone in the garden, with a wonderful view of the back of the house, and she thought wistfully of the previous owner. “I think we have Wallace to thank, really,” she murmured. “He saw the truth, apparently, and got tired of watching us stand off to the side, too afraid to jump – so he pushed us.”

He dipped his head to kiss her, a small miracle that grew more familiar with every press of lips, though the familiarity did not lessen the impact he had on her – quickened heartbeat, shallow breaths, and an overwhelming desire to find the nearest flat surface. Not that the last bit was anything particularly new, he had often unknowingly elicited such a response in her, but now, _now_ , she knew he would be in enthusiastic favor of such a diversion.

The future was ripe with possibilities.

* * *

“We’ll have to keep in touch,” Rose enthused, hugging Sarah Jane goodbye. It was finally time to go, and the woman had been kind enough to come see them off. “I have your email, and I’ll write you once we’re home.”

“And call,” the older woman ordered, squeezing her tightly. “I want to hear all about your tour. Well, most of it. No, _all_ of it.”

They shared a smirk that made Malcolm’s ears go red and Jack cough in a poor attempt to hide a laugh.

“We’ve a lot of driving to do today…” her husband tried to hurry them along, trying to shift Rose using his hands around her waist. “Time to go.”

Rose resisted, though, going in for one more hug. “Next time we come we’ll bring Clara,” she promised on the fly. “So you can meet properly. She’d _love_ to hear your stories about your days in uni- especially if they involve her.”

“There’s plenty of those,” Sarah Jane laughed in response. “Not all of them are ones she’ll want to hear, though.”

“In that case, I _have_ to hear them.”

Then it was time to say goodbye to Jack, and overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion, Rose buried her face in the man’s broad shoulder. “I’m going to miss you,” she mumbled. “I’m so glad we got a chance to get to know one another.”

“So am I,” he said kindly as they pulled away, before glancing over her shoulder at Malcolm. “Don’t be strangers – we’re family.”

“We’ll be back,” Rose repeated, wiping at her eyes. “Thank you for everything.”

“Jack,” Malcolm said somewhat stiffly, as Rose leaned into his side, holding out his hand to his cousin.

“My Lord,” the younger man said in reply, before breaking into a smile. “C’mere.” The two men hugged, Rose watching on with a watery smile. “So, where’s the first stop?”

Having played a large part in planning their itinerary, it was an obvious ploy to keep them there a little longer. Malcolm knew it as well, but indulged the delay. “Walk through the Old Town in Inverness, stop for lunch. Rose wants to see Culloden, then we’ll drive along the coast down to Aberdeen, stopping along the way as she likes.”

Jack nodded, lips pressed together tightly, a hint of moisture in his eyes. “A fine plan,” he managed. “Travel safe.”

With one more hug it was time to go, Malcolm helping Rose up into the canary-yellow roadster before jogging around to the driver’s side. She waved as they drove off until they were out of sight, before settling back in her seat and resting her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“We’ll be back soon enough,” he promised, taking one hand off the wheel to pat at her knee. “There’s lots more to Scotland to explore.”

She nodded, watching the town of Bonnar Bridge fly past, before sitting bolt upright, eyes widening. “Hey!”

“What?”

“How come we’ve been in Scotland for a _week_ and I have yet to see you in a kilt?”

He laughed, the sound bright and cheerful, before shaking his head. “I’ve one in my bag, I can try it on for you later if you like,” he offered, grinning.

“Good. I want to find out for myself if it’s true.”

“If what’s true?”

Her smile widened, hand landing on his knee before sliding upwards. “What you do- or _don’t_ \- wear under that thing.”

“Rose Tyler!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is the final chapter, though there is an epilogue to be posted on Tuesday.


	33. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: kids

**_ Five Years Later _ **

Rose drifted awake to the sound of birds chirping and the rustling of the curtains from the spring breeze. Yawning, she rolled over, burrowing down into the blankets. It had been so long, now, since she’d last woken naturally, that it felt like the height of luxury to stay in bed listening to the sounds of spring, the house quiet.

_Too_ quiet.

She bolted upright, listening intently but hearing nothing. A glance to the side showed she was alone in bed. Scrambling out of it, she pulled her dressing gown on as she shoved her feet into slippers, hurrying out of the room and down the hall. By the time she reached the kitchen she was nearly in a panic, stumbling in and glancing around wildly.

“Good morning,” Malcolm said mildly, his tone amused as she paused and took in the scene. He stood at the far side of the island, surrounded by baking supplies and clearly in the middle of making a cake. The scent of bacon wafted from the stovetop. “Sleep well?”

“Woke up- too quiet,” she panted, easing herself down onto one of the barstools. “I was worried.” Fears assuaged, she let herself look him over - even after all this time it still gave her a thrill to see him sleep-mused, hair unruly, wearing a tee and low-hung plaid sleep pants.

He just snorted, shaking his head. “And here I worked so hard keeping everything quiet so you could have a lie-in.” He looked at his co-conspirator, who sat perched on the countertop next to him with her face buried in the mixing bowl. From her vantage point, all Rose could see was blonde curls pulled into a loose ponytail. “I think you did too good a job of being quiet, JJ.” Receiving no response, he rolled his eyes at Rose and tapped the metal bowl with the spatula he held. “Knock knock. We have a visitor.”

The bowl lowered slowly, reluctantly, the little girl’s tongue straining to catch the last drops of batter before it settled on the countertop with a clang. She looked up at her father, who pointed at Rose, making JJ turn. “Mummy!” her eyes lit up, and she scrambled across the island to Rose, throwing herself into her arms heedless of the cake batter smeared over her face.

Rose didn’t care either, holding her first-born close and raining kisses over her face. “Hi, baby. Are you helping Daddy?”

“I makin’ a cake!” she declared, pressing her cheek to Rose’s shoulder. “It yummy.”

“It’s yummy, huh? What kind of cake is it?”

“Choc’late!”

“That _does_ sound yummy. Is it for a special occasion?”

JJ’s little brow furrowed, and she peeked back towards her father. “Uh…” He raised his eyebrows, mouthing at her, and after a moment she brightened again. “Oh yeah! Happy adversary, Mummy!”

Rose smiled, fighting back a laugh at the mispronunciation. “Thank you, baby.”

“Yes, happy adversary,” Malcolm joked, finally coming around the island to her after sliding the cake into the oven. “Or anniversary. Whichever.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.” She accepted his kiss gladly, grinning against his lips at the taste of chocolate. “I see your assistant’s not the only one sampling the cake batter.”

He pulled back, wiping at her chin. “Looks can be deceiving.”

A fussing from the table across the room broke the spell, and Rose eased her daughter off her lap. “I got him.” Coming around the side she found the baby sucking at his fist, wriggling slightly. “Daddy’s got you all cocooned up, doesn’t he?” she cooed, undoing the straps over his chest and lifting him out of the carrier, unwrapping the blankets around him. “That’s all right, I’ll set you free.” Cradling him to her chest she returned to the counter, carefully reclaiming her seat.

Malcolm was there to help her, beaming proudly down at his son – at only a few weeks old, the baby was still a novelty to everyone, even his three-year-old sister’s short attention span. “Five years ago today, we made our vows in this very house,” he murmured, one arm around JJ’s waist to keep her steady on the counter, his other hand on the baby, tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. “This was so far beyond my wildest dreams, of where I expected we’d be today.”

“Where, at a divorce lawyer? The day is still young,” Rose teased. “Might come down to how good that cake is.”

“It’ll rock your world,” he promised arrogantly, stealing a kiss.

“It better, since _you_ can’t yet,” she countered. “I have high expectations, my Lord.”

He kissed her again, longer this time, breaking away at their daughter’s exaggerated _Eewwwwwwww_. “How could you want to leave this?” Malcolm rolled his eyes, pressing his lips to his daughter’s forehead. “You don’t love the chaos?”

Rose watched as, with a wide swing of her arms, JJ accidentally knocked the bag of flour off the countertop and onto the floor with a soft _Oops_. “How about we leave them with C-L-A-R-A and D-A-N-N-Y and run off together?” She tilted her head towards the mess. “You, me, Scotland.”

He followed her gaze, shoulders slumping at the spilled flour he’d inevitably be cleaning up. “Absolutely.” The baby fussed then, a little louder, and her husband’s frown softened. “Maybe for the weekend. But this is our family, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Good answer,” Rose smiled. “Neither would I.”

They sealed it with a kiss – one accompanied by a toddler’s disgust and a baby’s cry.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was chaos, but it was theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, scene!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, I'm glad you've enjoyed taking this journey with me. As previously mentioned there will be more appearances of Rose, Malcolm, and co (including the kids, maybe?) in a series of one-shots. I recommend subscribing to the series if you wish to be notified.
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> New chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.


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